Fullmetal Knights - ONE

[Mlle Bienvenu]

:: cuts giant ribbon :: Let the games begin!

[Lolua]

2005.05.13 - Lolua - Nicholas Flamel - “Journey’s End”

The dust cloud that had begun on the horizon came to a halt at the crossing of two roads. As the particles of yellowish grit settled to the ground, three forms emerged: a man, his horse, and a tall, wooden signpost. The topmost slat on the post, which pointed straight ahead, bore a small figure of a castle and the legend Leyhara, 5 miles. On the next few boards down the post stood the names and distances of other towns, smaller and lesser in consequence than Leyhara, all located down the road to the right. Below these hung a less traditional marker, bound to the wooden shaft with bands of iron: a plain sword of beaten metal, too dull and flimsy to be of any real use as a weapon, but stabbing perpetually to the left.

The man smiled, remembering the day fifteen years ago that he and his friend William, a talented metalsmith, had wandered down the road from the Leyhara armory, the destination to which the sword pointed, to attach the sword to the post. It would be a simple yet effective sign, they had decided, advertising their product in a way that even the lowliest of unlettered peasants could read: here be weapons.

They had been young then, William and Nicholas. The task of replacing the worn-out armory sign on the post had been allotted by their master to William the journeyman smith, but it had been Nicholas’ idea to use a sword as the pointer.

The sword therefore should have told Nicholas where he was going, but he still couldn’t be sure.

Nicholas stole a last look up at the signpost and its sword, then turned resolutely to the left, following the direction indicated.

For five years he had wandered what seemed like the length and breadth of the known world, and in all that time, Nicholas had never felt truly lost. He had an objective in mind, a project that would come to completion. Along the way he had been guided by the quest for information, following the roadmap drawn by his ever-growing collection of notes.

Those notes, which took up half the weight now borne by his horse, comprised a complete catalogue of sketches of every alchemical circle known to man. Or, at least, he thought, it must be pretty close to complete. He couldn’t imagine that he had missed any kind of transmutation, for the circles he had collected covered every type of transmutation from acology to zymurgy. A woman in Sindi had slipped Nicholas a piece of paper with a circle on it that, when shaved into the hair on the back of a cow, apparently cured cowpox. An old alchemist in Creata had even made a circle that would curl his nosehair into ringlets.

In five years Nicholas hadn’t been lost, not until he found himself at a familiar crossroads, less than a mile from home.

His disorientation had nothing to do with geography. He was sure he could find his way home in the dark from here, even if his horse, which had been a gift from the Wise Ones of the Sarmatians, could not.

Nicholas was lost now because he did not know how to find his tongue.

The silent solitude of the journey had nothing to do with it. In each city, in each jerkwater town where he had sought a wise alchemist to consult, there had been no problems with knowing what to say or how to ask for help. Sure, there had been quite a few shifty-looking alchemists who had refused to share their research even after Nicholas had explained his project, but these situations had never been resolvable by persuasion. Some pursuits, Nicholas had conceded grimly to himself, were probably better left unshared and unpublished.

The project was almost finished and he was nearly home, but Nicholas did not know what to say to his patron and he did not know what to say to his friends.

Nicholas plodded down the road, leading the horse by the reins. He came ever closer to his destination but wished he could stay lost just one more day. Maybe then he could decide what to say to those to whom he had so much explaining to do.

Sooner than he had hoped, but no sooner than he had really expected, the trees ahead of him parted, and the assorted buildings of the large and thriving armory came into view.

Nicholas Flamel had come home.

[Lolua]

2005.05.15 - Lolua - Nicholas Flamel - “Journey’s End” (continued)

The late afternoon sun filtered tentatively through the trees shading the roadway, casting blotchy shadows at Nicholas’ feet as he passed through a gate into the precincts of the armory, where the indifferent pounding of hammer on steel served as the only fanfare of his homecoming. At this time of day, he thought, most of the women would be busying themselves with throwing supper together, probably slicing up root vegetables for the communal soup pot and swapping stories. The children, informed by their rumbling stomachs that the dinner claxon would soon ring, abandoned their mysterious playtime pursuits and lurked closer to their homes. The reverberation of the men’s hammer stokes would be softer at this time than at any other during the day, though Nicholas suspected that quitting-time weariness, more than fear of drowning out the dinner bell, slowed the drop of every hammer.

Nicholas slipped unnoticed into the familiar stable, finding an empty stall in which to settle his horse. The creature was chestnut brown and rather short-legged in comparison to most of the warhorses he had seen around the armory, but deep-chested and sturdy. The Sarmatian warlord to whom she had originally belonged had treated her well, and she had been a worthy tithe to the Wise Ones -- a small group of powerful Sarmatian alchemists -- who had in turn gifted her to Nicholas. The reverence with which the Sarmartians treated their alchemists still puzzled Nicholas a bit; to him, alchemy was just science, a skill gained by study like any other. He supposed, though, that in a nomadic culture, where a horse and whatever fit in a saddlebag were the only possessions possible, the ability to make virtually anything from a few raw materials would be a very valuable asset indeed.

“What’s his name?”

The small voice came out of nowhere, startling Nicholas. He turned around to find a young child, perhaps five or six years old, watching him from the top of a haybale in the corner. The child’s sex and identity were impossible for Nicholas to determine, for the child was thoroughly begrimed with caked ochre mud. Not that he would have been likely to recognize a clean boy or girl; whoever this was, he or she had been born around the time Nicholas had left Leyhara.

“Excuse me?” Nicholas prompted, not fully understanding what he had been asked.

“The horse. What did you name him?” the grimy child demanded.

“Oh.” His brow furrowed, approaching the question as seriously as he did everything. “He doesn’t have a name. At least, I don’t think so. He was a gift. I mean, she -- she was a gift,” Nicholas added hastily, remembering that the horse was a mare. He was tripping all over his tongue already, and he hadn’t even met anyone he knew, just this mud-covered little kid.

“Well, she ought to have a name,” the child informed him, jumping down from its perch on the hay bale. “Mine’s Robin. Are you staying for supper? It’s just soup, but it’s good.”

“Robin, eh?” Nicholas repeated, temporizing by rubbing the back of his neck and trying to remember if any of the women of the armory had been expecting when he left, because he certainly didn’t recognize the name. He needed more information, and so he said, “Robin, it’s very nice to meet you, but where are your parents?”

“My dad died last year,” the child explained in the brisk, emotionless voice of one who is still grieving but doesn’t want to think about it. “Mom brought us here to start over.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicholas said sympathetically. “My mother died when I was even younger than you. And I came here to start over, too, though not for a long time afterward.”

“What’s ‘afterward’?” Robin asked curiously, gazing up at Nicholas and wrinkling his grimy nose. “You talk funny.”

Nicholas laughed at Robin’s callow changes of subject. He was about to answer the fresh accusation when he heard footsteps on the gravel of the path outside the door. Robin’s eyes grew round with dread. “Mom’s looking for me,” the child gasped, then dived wildly behind the bale of hay.

“Robbie?” came a woman’s seeking voice out in the stableyard. A moment later the door creaked open to reveal its frazzled and aproned owner, a woman around Nicholas’ own age. A fleshy chin protruded over the folds of her wimple, and there was anger in her small eyes as she entered the stable. “Robin, I know you’re in here, I can smell the m- oh!” She caught sight of Nicholas and took an instinctive step backward from the stranger, the anger turning to apprehension in an instant.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. I didn’t mean any harm. I just came in here to put my horse away,” Nicholas said, feeling stupid and out of place again.

“Is -- is there anything I can h- help you with?” she asked haltingly, as if unaccustomed to strangers and searching for the right words of hospitality. “W- would you like something to eat?”

“No, thank you, I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I, um,” Nicholas faltered, looking dumbly around the stable as if he had forgotten something terribly important, “tell me, is William Redbeard around?”

The woman started again, then peered at him strangely. “Yes, William’s about, but nobody calls him that except -- say, you don’t know his sister, do you?”

“Of course I do. I was Perenelle’s teacher.”

“Her teacher? Then you must be --“ A sudden look of understanding came across the woman’s rounded features. “Oh, Mr. Flamel, sir, forgive me, I had no idea you were coming back -- coming back today, I mean. I’ve only lived here since last winter, I --“

Nicholas held up a hand to forestall her apologies. “So I’ve been informed. Don’t worry about me, if I wanted a big commotion over my homecoming, I would have written ahead.” He laughed nervously, remembering that he hadn’t written that letter because he had been so nervous about coming back.

“Oh, but everyone will be so happy to have you home!” the woman gushed. “They speak of you often and all your letters are read over and over again. Everyone comes to the armory looking for the famous Flamel.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, but I’m nobody,” he corrected her gently. “I haven’t done anything, really, just visited some exciting places and met a few interesting people. Besides, it would seem that my friends are your friends, so please -- call me Nicholas. And by what name may I call you?”

“I’m Elaine, just Elaine,” she replied. “Forgive me for barging in on you like that. . . . I was looking for my son, Robin.” At last she had settled the question of the child’s gender.

Right on cue, the adults were reminded of their young audience by the sudden shuffling of Robin rising to his feet behind the bale. “You’re Nicholas?” the child asked doubtfully, all fear of the mother’s retribution apparently forgotten. Bits of hay now stuck to the still-damp patches of mud on his face and clothes, giving Nicholas the impression that he was not a boy at all, but a very small, very battered scarecrow. “Can you really do alchemy as good as Perenelle?”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow and looked down at the boy. “I’ll take that to mean that she is every bit as skilled an alchemist as she promised to be when I went away. I only hope I can live up to your high expectations,” he answered solemnly.

“What’s ‘expectations’?” Robin wanted to know, again frustrated by the use of a word he didn’t understand.

“Something expected, something you hope for with eager anticipation,” Nicholas replied automatically.

Robin frowned and opened his mouth in protest, but before he could question Flamel’s explanation, his mother cut him off.

“Don’t you bother Mr. Flamel any more,” she scolded him. “And go wash up for dinner, I won’t let you near the food looking like that.”

“Yes, mother,” Robin responded resignedly. He dawdled a moment, looking at the ground and picking at the hay on his clothes in a last effort to postpone his bath.

His mother took the opportunity to continue her lecture. “I don’t know how you get so filthy all the time,” Elaine said, shaking her head. “I doubt you could have gotten half so dirty if you’d been rolling in the pigsty. Now go wash!” She placed her hand behind Robin’s shoulder blades and gently propelled him toward the door.

From the sly smile Robin hid from his mother as he turned to leave, Nicholas surmised that rolling in the sty was exactly what the boy had been doing.

[Theophrastus von Hohenheim]

If you wanted great armor, armor that could take blade and blow, arrow and spear; if you wanted armor that didn't rust, and was lightweight and maneuverable; if you wanted armor that would be passed down from generation to generation, from nobility to nobility, from father to son, you wanted armor from Rush Valley, the kindred homeland of all armorers. Everyone who was anyone purchased their armor from the smithies of Rush Valley.

But if you wanted legendary armor, the kind which seeded tales of invincible knights, of unsurpassed feats of chivalry, of rescued maidens, and of conquered dragons...in short, if you wanted armor that was an extension of your very soul, you went to Flamel's Forge.

Theophrastus swatted the hair out of his eyes so he could stare blankly at the road stretching before him. The open road had always been there when no one else would tolerate him, but now he had burned too many bridges, and the sole remaining road would only delay the inevitable.

The setting sun cast his shadow behind him like a towering specter of what awaited him upon his return to the Duchy of Taliana, and what would inevitably follow that return. A signpost stood beside a fork in the road. The roads diverged: one led right, and into the city; but the other, lead to his final destination according to the sword affixed to the pole, It was clearly not visited as often as the other road, it was less well kept and worn in.

Theo's steed pawed at the ground impatiently and for a wild moment, Theo imagined himself taking the other road and going to Leyhara City instead, or maybe to one of the destinations marked by the smaller signs, dissapearing and never returning to Wurtemburg again.

He looked back over his shoulder in the general direction of Wurtemburg, and past that, he imagined, the Ishbalan region. As he gazed over the darkening horizon, his eye involuntarily followed a sole traveler...Xingian, Theo guessed, by virtue of his foreign style of dress. This would have gone totally unnoticed if they were still within Taliana, but Theo was far away from the Amestrian terminus of the Sages Road, the trade route leading through Ishbal to Xing, and this sole traveler seemed out of place and very far from his home.

Theo tore his eyes away from the traveler, glancing at the now blood-red sun that illuminated his way only ephemerally. Travel would soon be impossible, so he would have to reach his destination soon or find shelter. Resolutely, he urged his horse into a canter, down the road less traveled.

[Methuselah]

2005.05.18 - Demonic Neko - Methuselah - "Enter Methuselah"

As dusk settled on the otherwise harmless looking, rural road, it began to take on an ominous appearance. The shadows seemed to follow the steps of the two lonely travelers, twisting and shifting into different shapes like impish children at play.

Slowly, just behind the Xingian the shadows seemed to get darker, taking on an almost viscous quality. A black tendril reached out of the shadow and moved closer to the edge of the Xingian's robe, just brushing the edge. Then instantly it was gone, as the Xingian looked back to see nothing out of the ordinary.

* * * * * * * * * * *

A woman sat behind an ornate desk in a richly decorated room. She shrouded herself in shadow, the only light coming from a circle of candles in the center of the room and a path leading to the door. As long as she was in the darkness it offered her a measure of security, it gave her the upper hand against her "servant." She didn't have to wait long before a shadow slowly slid into the room and slid across the floor, never straying from the light. It looked like a moving oil slick, slithering across the floor in an almost reptilian fashion.

As soon as it settled into the center of the room, it slowly rose, taking on the semblance of human form. After a few moments a man stood in front of her. He was very tall, with a lean, wiry frame wrapped in black leather and silver buckles. His skin was so pale that it nearly glowed in the light. His long black hair hung down his back and seemed to writhe with a life of it's own. Electric blue eyes peered at her as his lips curled into a mocking smirk.

"What have you learned, Methuselah?" she asked as he stepped close to a candle, his gloved fingers playing with the flame.

He shrugged, his focus entirely on the flame. "She is headed toward Leyhara." He tilted his head and peered at her with his intense blue gaze. "I could have brought her to you. She was practically alone.."

"No," the woman stated firmly. "You are only to watch her and not interfere. Do you understand? I do not want her harmed either physically or mentally. Is that clear?" The last time she asked him to bring someone to her, he had brought her a quivering mess that was barely recognizable as human.

Methuselah cackled, "As you wish..." He gave a low bow then melted into the shadows.

[Theophrastus von Hohenheim]

As the traveler came closer, he noticed him moving in odd strides. As if he wasn't even lifting his feet. Theo pulled on the reigns of his horse in order to allow the traveler to catch up with him, which he did at an alarming rate. Theo stared, confused at the odd movements he made with every step, long strides that seemed to take him forward unnaturally, but for the long traveling coat, it was difficult to tell exactly how he was achieving this effect. The traveler was beside Theo's horse now, and seemed to pay no attention to him at all as he made to pass Theo's horse out with the odd unearthly strides. Theo matched speed, practically hanging over the side of his horse to get a closer look at the stranger's feet, "What the devil-... Are you gliding?"

The traveler looked up at him as if seeing him for the first time, "In the dirt? I'd have no feet left." He lifted up his cloak, "Foot-Carts."

Theo stared at the young man's feet as he moved them, keeping up with trot of his horse. It indeed looked like he had miniature cart wheels affixed to his sandals "Clearly you have too much time on your hands."
"Yep... I have a lot of time on my hands." He raised his eyebrows, although Theo couldn't see them.
"I mean, that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen!"
The Xingian shrugged, "They got me here, didn't they?"
"Which reminds me, why have you been following me?"
"Following you? And all this time I thought you were following me!"
"Why would I follow you?"
"Why would I follow you?"
"Maybe you're a bandit."
He sighed, "If I were a bandit, I certainly wouldn't have waited this long to take your gold.."
"Hmph..." He did have a point, it seemed like it would almost cost him more to travel and then take his gold, then to take it once they reached a convenient forest, which they'd already been through several. Theo sat in silence with nothing but the sound of hoof beats and the whooshing sound the young Xingian's strange shoes made on the dirt road. After a few minutes of this, Theo broke the silence, "So boy, have you got a name?"
He smirked, "Sure do. It's a girl's name too... because I'm a girl."
Theo squinted, it was too hard to tell in those long clothes and growing darkness, "It's a little late for a woman to be on the road at this hour unaccompanied." He muttered.
"I'm not unaccompanied."
"I don't see anyone else here."
"And what are you? A very talkative bush?"
"I'm not accompanying you!"
"Maybe I'm accompanying you."
"Ha!" Theo smiled triumphantly and pointed a finger at her, "So you admit you're following me!"
"Jie-Xian"
Theo blinked, his triumph deflating into confusion, "What?"
"You asked me my name, and I'm telling you, it's Jie-Xian."
"What?"
"Jie-Xian"
"Trisha?"
"Jee-eh-Shee-on."
"What kind of name is that?"
"A Xingian name." She said, "So who are you?"
"Theophrastus," He said begrudgingly after a few moments pause, "of Hohenheim."
"ahh..the Hohenheims of Wurtemburg... Yes, I know that place... the Bombastus branch?"
Theo snorted, "Unfortunately."
The woman nodded slowly, "Ahh.. I see..."
Theo didn't like the way that sounded, "What! What do you see?"
"Nothing..nothing..."
"Tell me, woman!"
"Well... I assume you didn't come all this way to get a pot fixed."
"Who in their right mind would do that!?"
She shrugged, "and this Forge is famous for their armor...." she continued, "now... I know that the Lords of Hohenheim Castle serve under Duchess Cathrine, who rules Taliana.. She's extremely interested in the trade with Xing that goes through Ishbal. Given the unrest brewing in Ishbal, I'd say you were off to protect the trade route." Theo looked at this woman curiously, wondering how she knew so much about the state of affairs. He wondered briefly if she was a spy for the Emperor of Xing, who also would like to protect Xing's trade with Taliana. Then his stomach lurched into his toes, realizing she was not a spy from Xing, but from his own father, to make sure he came back...Well the old bastard was no fool after all... but two could play at that game, "I'm going to defend the honor of my family and country."
"Pfeh....honor...." She waved him away.
"What's that supposed to mean!?"
"I've seen all kinds of honor, and very little is ever done on the battlefield."'
"If you must know, I'm a doctor!"
She turned around to face him properly without stopping, "A doctor?"
"Yes!"
"Alchemic?"
"No!"
"Oh..." She turned back around easily on her rolling sandals.
"What's wrong with being a doctor?"
"Nothing, my husband was an alchemic doctor."
"Oh?"
"Yes... he died many years ago."
"He couldn't have been a very good doctor then." As soon as he said it, he wished he could snatch the words out of the air. He sunk down in his saddle trying to make himself smaller...

But the Xingian didn't seem hurt, "He was a foolish man, with foolish ambitions," She said matter of factly, "All for the right reasons, of course- ah! Here we are!"

Theo hadn't needed the announcement, he'd been hearing the singing of anvils for the last minute or so, and even though it was dark, the fires shone through the windows acting as a beacon, leading them on.

[Lolua]

2005.05.15 - Lolua - Nicholas Flamel - “The Hound that Came A Stranger”

"Warren," she said, "he has come home to die:
You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time."

"Home," he mocked gently.

"Yes, what else but home?
It all depends on what you mean by home.
Of course he's nothing to us, any more
Than was the hound that came a stranger to us
Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail."

"Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in."

"I should have called it
Something you somehow haven't to deserve."

-- from Robert Frost, "The Death of the Hired Man"

As Robin trudged slowly from the stable, Elaine turned back to Nicholas. "If I can't interest you in anything to eat, would you like to see William now?"

"Yes," Nicholas said resolutely, smiling against the fresh anxiety rising in his stomach. "Won’t he be heading in to dinner soon?"

Elaine smiled. "You won't find William around the mess these days, he's too busy for food. There’s some special project he's been working on over at the bloomery."

"Thinks the iron's not good enough for what he wants to do, eh?" Nicholas said knowingly. William was nothing if not persistent in his attempts to improve the quality of the iron and steel he worked.

The woman nodded and began to walk out of the stable, into the small yard that faced onto the lane leading into the armory and the large gate that guarded the entrance. Nicholas followed her, a little amused that she seemed to be leading him around his own home.

"He's got Perenelle all caught up in it, too," Elaine added. "though I think a good meal would help the pair of them far more than any of her alchemy."

Nicholas frowned slightly, beginning to worry about how his friends had been faring in his absence. Five years ago it had been his place at the armory to obsess over minor flaws and go without meals in pursuit of a better product, causing no end of worry from William and Perenelle. Now, it seemed, he had by his very absence endangered the health of his friends, who had assumed the burden of responsibility he had abandoned in leaving.

"You can go on down to the bloomery if you know the way," Elaine was saying, "I mean, if you're sure you don't want anything to eat." She flushed with embarrassment. Of course Nicholas would know the way; he had called this place home since before her own children had been born. "I want to stop in at the kitchen and grab a kettle of soup for their dinner, but I won't keep you."

"It smells good. Maybe the soup'll tempt them away from their work long enough to say hello to me," Nicholas said. He was trying to be humble and polite, but to his own ears he sounded bitter.

"Don't say that! Of course they're eager to see you!" Elaine quickly assured him.

"And they'll be eager to have that soup," he replied gently. "I'll meet you over at the bloomery, then? In a few minutes?"

Elaine smiled broadly, her red cheeks pushing against her wimple. "See you there . . . Nicholas."

Picking up her skirts to give her speed, Elaine turned and half-ran, half-scurried to the kitchen courtyard across the access road into the armory, kicking up more yellow grit as she went.

Nicholas sighed and stepped onto the road, moving deeper into the armory and journeying back to the memory of a night five springs ago.

William sat on Nicholas' bed in the dormitory, wearing an anxious expression and holding a bowl of soup in his callused, heat-tolerant hands. Nicholas had just returned from a daytrip to the city of Leyhara, where he had consulted with the Lord, obtained a letter of introduction from him, and outfitted himself for his coming journey. It was late by the time Nicholas returned to the armory, and he had planned to go straight to bed in anticipation of the early start he would make in the morning.

"Thought you might be hungry," William explained, offering the bowl to Nicholas.

"I am," Nicholas assured him, between sips of the warm soup. "I had a bit of bread in town, but this is much better. Thank Perenelle for saving me some, will you?"

"Thank her yourself," William replied.

"I would," said Nicholas, taking another gulp of broth to temporize, "but I might not see her again for quite some time."

William's eyebrows twitched, but the rest of his expression didn't change. Nicholas stopped drinking when he realized that William was not at all surprised by this announcement.

"I can't stay here anymore, William," Nicholas began. The words sounded stupid even as they left his mouth. Of course he could stay -- he would just be miserable if he did. He would do the same thing, every day, for the rest of his life, and never know what could have been, what he could have learned --

"You don't have to explain," William said, as if reading Nicholas' thoughts.

The alchemist put down his bowl, confused. "Don’t I?"

William closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, a thoughtful expression taking over his features. "If I only knew how to make nails, and I'd only made nails my whole life, and I found out that someone else knew how to make a hammer, or that hammers and nails might be used together to build a house -- then I'd want to learn how to make a hammer, too."

It was an unusually long speech for William, Nicholas thought, but as usual his friend’s insight proved as keen as the edges of the swords he forged. More than the challenge of learning something new, the bitter taste of ignorance tempted Nicholas away from the place he had called home for ten years.

Into the silence, the smith added, "Drink your soup before it gets cold."

Nicholas smiled sadly. "You know me too well, old friend." He picked up the bowl and obediently drained the contents. When the last drop had disappeared, Nicholas busied himself with wiping out the bowl before handing it back to William.

"I'm leaving tomorrow at dawn."

"Any idea where you're headed?" William asked.

"West," Nicholas replied decisively. "My father once told me about an alchemy school in Andulasia. I thought I might head in that direction and see what I find out along the way."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"It's not that far, just across Creata," Nicholas continued. "And who knows? Maybe I'll get to the school and they'll hand me a copy of the book I was going to write. If someone else has written it already, I could be back in a few months, maybe less."

His friend regarded Nicholas soberly over the empty bowl. "Or you could be gone a long time."

The following silence attested to the truth of William’s words. Even if Nicholas did find what he said he was looking for in an Andulasian school, would he be satisfied with just reading someone else's work? Ten years ago he had left his family home and struck out looking for something to give his life meaning. He thought he had found that in his work at the armory, but it wasn’t enough anymore.

It saddened Nicholas to know that not even his best friend was enough to keep him there, but it crushed him to realize that William planned to support him no matter what.

"I'm going to miss you terribly, you know," Nicholas had said lamely.

"I know," had come the honest reply.

[Methuselah]

Methuselah sat, cross legged, on the edge of of a building, peering down at the forge, waiting. One hand was held close to his chest holding a small burning candle as the other shielding the light from view by anyone but him. The light was comforting to him and, if he had his way, he would be happily sunning himself in the light of one hundred, no one thousand candles.

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, lathing up the crimson and gore that coated the lower half of his face. He was bored and just a little hungry so he picked up an unlucky traveler that happened to stumble past his perch. The now cooling and partially eviscerated body was crammed behind him, tossed aside carelessly.

A familiar weight landed on his shoulder and he frowned, but refused to look at it, instead turning his gaze to the flame of the candle.

"Pathetic," a hissing child-like voice chuckled in his ear, " You're the Master of shadows and you're afraid of the dark." Methuselah cast a glace at the creature sitting on his shoulder. It was a gray demonish thing, with bat wings and a wide mouth full of sharp, nasty teeth, which were bared in a leering grin.

Ignore him and he'll go away, Methuselah thought to himself as he focused on the light, attempting to block out everything around him. It would piss his Master off if he missed his target leaving the forge, but this took priority.

The creature on his shoulder chuckled and reached out a taloned hand toward the flame. Methuselah snarled and pulled it away. The flame almost flicked out and he felt a tight knot of panic form in the pit of his stomach. He cupped his hand protectively around the candle, cradling it close. He threw a glare at the creature.

"Go away and leave me alone. I have no time for you now," he hissed as his free hand shot out to claw at the creature. He knew it was useless, the creature easily flitted away from his touch, cackling madly.

"Utterly pathetic," the creature laughed with wicked glee. "You're like a child who needs a night light to keep the nasty monsters away."

Methuselah roared and gathered the shadows around him into a sharpened spike and launched it into the demon's grinning face. It dissolved into the shadows, but it's laughter still rang in his ears. The creature was gone for the moment, but it would be back, it always came back.

As Methuselah settled back down to his watch, he realized with dread that candle had gone out. Now it might have been very simple to just relight the candle, but the creature had agitated him enough that his phobia was already working on him. His powers began to turn on him, the shadows taking on a life of their own, beyond his control. He drew his knees to his chest and shut his eyes tight as the shadows began to wrap around in with an almost suffocating force. His only consolation was that dawn was a few hours away.

[Lorpius Prime]

2005.06.24 - Lorpius Prime - Hadar Amir - "Mid-Life Crisis"

Hadar Amir pulled tight the final leather strap on his saddlebags. He tested all the buckles once more, made sure the weight was distributed correctly, and all his pouches were fastened securely. Finding everything in order, he slapped a hand on the rig, and turned around.

One of the Sindi merchants rode up to Hadar, his mount was a great black stallion. It was a wealthy man’s steed, used as much to announce its rider’s status as to carry him. The horse looked strong, fast, but its high stature would cause it some difficulty crossing the desert. The merchant, his name was Rama Shandar reigned in his horse, and leaned down to Hadar.

“Ho, Guard. Ready for the journey?”

Hadar nodded slightly, “I am prepared to move out, master Rama, whenever you give me the order.”

“Consider it given, then. We have a long way ahead of us, and I would prefer to make the most of the night. The sun in these parts is not kind to men or beast.”

Hadar smirked slightly, he had traveled this desert his entire life, while it the merchants first time to make the trip from his native Sindi to trade in the markets of Amestris.

“As you say, master merchant. I shall follow the caravan out of the village.”

“My father spoke very well of you, guard, and the price you charge is certainly that of a man very skilled in his profession. And yet you do not seem to carry any great armament.”

“Your father flatters me, and he must think highly of you and your brother to turn over to you this responsibility.”

Hadar looked Rama in the eye; the younger man did not appear satisfied with this response.

“I wonder if it is your intention to protect our wares by virtue of your reputation alone.”

Hadar chuckled, “I will keep you safe, master merchant. I assure you that, if we are killed, you do not have to pay me.”

The trader frowned as Hadar hoisted himself onto his saddle, but decided not to press the matter. He did nod at the guard’s mount, however, “With what my family has been paying you, plus your other wages, I would think you could afford a more handsome beast.”

Hadar smiled and patted the camel’s head, “Oh, but Damaris is faithful, and knows these deserts well. I could not ask for better.”

Rama made one more slightly disgusted face, then shrugged, and rode over to his older brother, Raj, who was inspecting the last of their pack animals. Damaris snorted and spat.

Hadar laughed, and scratched her neck, “He and his brother are fine men, Damaris, their father is a fine man. They will outgrow their pride soon enough,” he looked at the setting sun ahead of them. “The desert will teach them much.”

He waited for the caravan to begin on its path into the desert, led by the brothers, followed by their two dozen pack animals and handlers. Hadar kicked his feet, and he and Damaris followed the train out into the dry, cold desert air.

[Lorpius Prime]

2005.07.1 - Lorpius Prime - Hadar Amir - "Mid Life Crisis" Part II

Hadar wiped the grit and sweat from his brow, then replaced the loose cloth cap. The sun in the west hadn’t quite crossed the horizon yet, and the oppressive daytime heat still lingered. The caravan had been traveling for nearly two months now, and everyone was eager to reach their destination, rest and sell their wares, then start the journey back. Hadar let out a long sigh and wondered how much longer he should be doing this job; it was starting to wear on him.

The party had crossed out of the southern edges of the Great Desert and entered Ishbal proper several weeks ago. Still, the difference was hardly noticeable, and the more fertile soil had soon given way to sand and dunes once more as they’d journeyed north. There were some minor mountains in the distance east of the party, and somewhere among them lay the city of Ishval itself.

The caravan had bypassed it far to the west. This disappointed the merchant brothers, but Hadar didn’t mind too much, it wasn’t much different from the other towns scattered through the region, a little bigger, a little more crowded, and a little wealthier, but only a little. Besides, Hadar preferred the more open and lower cities in the Ishbalan south. They were less pretentious, at least. If there was one thing that Ishval had, it was arrogance. The city was home to the Great Temple of Ishbala, center of his people’s religion, and a great spectacle even to visitors from other lands. Hadar had been there once, shortly after the Xingians had made their final withdrawal and left him jobless. One of the temple guards had sneered at him through the sea of pilgrims as Hadar ran a hand along one of the beautifully chiseled stone pillars.

A hand slapped Hadar’s shoulder.

“Ready to head out?” Raj Shandar looked into Hadar’s eyes.

Hadar shook his head and blinked, “Yes, master merchant, we should be leaving.” He grabbed the pack at his feet by its leather strap and hefted it onto a shoulder. “We are two days from Reshtar, but there is an oasis just over halfway there where we can camp and water the animals. We will head north by northwest. From Reshtar, it is less than a week to Lior.”

“Let us depart then.” Raj curled his lips and whistled to his brother, Rama, near the head of the group. Rama waved an arm, and the head of the camel-handlers began leading his charge out into the night. Raj soon joined them, riding his own great stallion, a fitting, though slightly shorter, pair to his brother’s mount.

Hadar swung his pack over his camel’s saddle, and stepped up himself. He patted Damaris’s head as he watched the handlers make their way out of what had been their campground for the day.

During the first part of their journey, he’d checked with all the handlers to make sure they were all reasonably well armed, long daggers for the most part, and knew how to use their weapons. He’d explained to them how to watch for bandits, and scheduled watch shifts for when they made camp. The caravan could defend itself well enough against the small bands of thieves which would sometimes attack such trading parties. They hadn’t had any trouble so far and probably wouldn’t, as attacks were rare and more common in the Great Desert and not so much nearer the cities and Amestrian border. Still, they happened, and Hadar was paid to ward them off, a task he intended to perform vigilantly. Reputation was everything in this business.

[Faye-Tal]

Somewhere in Barbar....

“STOP THIEF!!”

The shout echoed through the marketplace. The patrons stopped in a stunned silence. The palace guards never came into the market. The momentary silence was broken by the sound of two darkly clad figures crashing through the market.

The taller one was feminine and supported delicate features. Her hair stayed in place as she clutched a jewel-encrusted egg to her chest. Her companion was as plane and stocky as she was fine and delicate. He wheezed as he ran by the woman.

Not thirty paces behind came a dozen palace guards. The guard at the lead was wearing armor with the distinction as being treasury guard.

The woman darted out an arm to get her companion’s attention. “Baganof! Look!” She pointed to an unattended horse. Baganof nodded and they both headed to the beast. The woman jumped on and with a brief struggle helped her companion get on behind her. She pulled on the reins and the horse dashed off. Baganof was startled by the jolt and fell backwards, his foot snagging on a length of rope that was attached to the saddle.

“FAYE-TAAAAAAAAAL!!!!” he screeched as he was drug behind her, crashing into several walls and stands that lined the market place. Faye-tal glanced back and blanched. She grabbed the rope and managed to pull him back onto the horse.

“Sorry Baganof darlink,” she said, turning her attention back to the steering of the horse. Baganof glanced behind him to see that the palace guards were still hot on their tail.

“Poopsie, give me a charge. I lost my spares.”

Faye-tal nodded and lifted a hand. She seemed to reach into the air and pull out a nondescript bottle filled with a gray substance and handed it to Baganof. He grinned and concentrated on the bottle. It began to glow ominously. He turned back and tossed it at the guards.

BOOOM!

The market place was suddenly filled with smoke and debris as the bottle exploded. Faye-tal and Baganof used the ensuing chaos to get away.

[Jie-Xian]

Jiexian watched the young doctor hand his horse over to the stable boy and enter the forge. After which she plopped onto the ground, heedless of the dirt. She pressed a hand casually onto the ground and pulled out of it a porcelain ink bowl with a block of ink in it and from in her pack she took out a well broken-in brush and a book.

The book was a simple leatherbound travel-sized journal mostly filled. She flipped to the last filled page and started another, dipping her brush thoughtfully into the ink.

An autumn bush, with golden hair.

He speaks to me as I travel the road.
He says many things without saying anything at all.

He speaks of the sun,
and of the clashing desert sands caught in a sandstorm

His thorns are many, and his bark is rough,
but these protect the soft green interior,

He worries the sun will dry him out,
and the sands will tear him apart.

There is a pan in my pack.
It can be mended soon.

My journey will end shortly
Or is it just begining?

[Methuselah]

Dark so dark. He curled up tighter into a ball, trying to block out the whispers, the suffocating feeling of claustrophobia as the blackness closed around him.

Somehow he had gotten off the roof and was in an alleyway. He wasn't entirely sure how he got there or where he was. all he knew was that it was dark and he was afraid.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as rocked back and forth, trying to bottle up the screams that he wanted to let out. Screaming would just make the bad thing come for him again. ..

Suddenly he sensed it.. A light. His eyes flew open, and focused on a light. It was all he could see. He stood shakily and stumbled toward it.

She paused in her writing. A sort of buzzing in the back of her mind told Jie-Xian that the something on the road was back again, although she couldn't see it in the darkness outside her lamplight. Shifting, she dipped her brush thoughtfully into the ink again, and added a line in her journal.

An unknown something is at my heals. . .

He stumbled toward her, his arms wrapped tightly around his body. His long hair hung loose around him like a cloak as he made unsteady steps toward the light. He looked like a lost child as he worried his lower lip and stopped right in front of her.

The buzzing in her head was louder now. . . this person who stood in front of her. . . could it be the same as from on the road? It wasn't human, she knew that much. . . his ki was all wrong . . . that was what was causing the buzzing in her head. She stared at him while puzzling over this, putting the clean end of her brush in her mouth

She took the end of the brush from her mouth, "Can I help you?" She said finally, realizing how much she was staring. . .

He glanced down then back up again and shook his head slightly.

"N-no... I just.. wanted to get closer to the light," he whispered. He sounded and looked terribly young, despite his height.

"Okay then." She smiled slightly and turned her attention back to her journal.

He knelt down and tried to get as much of his lanky frame as possible into the glow casted from the lamp without being intrusive. His eyes were fixed entirely on the light as he slowly relaxed.

Without looking up, the woman seemed to pull another lamp, already lit from the ground, and placed it in front of Methuselah.

He blink and looked down at the lamp then back up at the woman. A shy smile tugged at his lips.

"Thank you," he whispered as he carefully, almost reverently lifted the lamp and held it in his lap, basking in it's glow.

"The earth has many gifts to give, no?" She smiled, pleased at the creatures response.

He nodded slightly, giving her another shy smile. "I appreciate it very much.."

"Good" She turned back to her writing for a third time.

He curled his knees to his chest, resting the lamp carefully on on knee as he rested his chin on the other. He gazed deeply in the flame as if mesmerized. After a moment his eyes began to slowly drift shut, but he would shake it off to stare at the flame again.

Suddenly his body stiffened and he yelped as in an instant the shadows around them seemed to open up and swallow him up sending the lamp crashing to the floor. Then there was silence and no trace that he had ever been there except for the discarded lamp.

The oil spilled onto the ground and caught fire, Jie quickly dammed up the oil with dirt so the small fire continued to burn in a controlled fashion, until the only thing left was a greasy pool of lampblack.

[Lolua]

2005.07.12 - Lolua - Nicholas Flamel - "The Hound That Came A Stranger" (continued)


The alchemist was startled from his reverie by the welcoming shouts of smiths at work in their forges.

"Bless my soul, it's Nicholas!" cried a toothless old man, nearly dropping a pair of heavy iron tongs in his excitement.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in. . . it's good to see you again, Flamel," growled the burliest of the smiths at that station, who set down his hammer to walk over and shake Nicholas' hand.

"Nicholas! Welcome back! I hope you're not too proud to work now that you're famous and all!" joked a young smith Nicholas' own age. He beamed as he slapped Nicholas familiarly on the back in greeting.

"Never, Gareth, never," Nicholas replied, laughing a little at the mock accusation. "I'm glad to be home and gladder still to see you in such good health, Master Odo, and good spirits, Master Rudolf," he told the other smiths, nodding at each of them in turn. "How's business been?"

"Well enough," Rudolph said vaguely, flexing his enormous shoulders in a shrug. "Not so much work that the body complains, and not so little that the stomach does."

"Seems like the Lord's itching to go to war again, though," Gareth elaborated, earning a sharp look from Rudolf. "He's called the Masters' Council to come for an audience in the city by the end of the week."

"All good for business, of course!" Rudolf said, pressing powerfully on Gareth's shoulder.

"And bad for these old bones," Odo complained, flexing his left knee experimentally. Nicholas knew that the man's joints had already begun to bother him five years ago, but he could only imagine that time and increased age were making the pain worse. "Wish the Lord'd meet us down here for a change. How was your trip?" he asked Nicholas keenly, clearly trying to change the subject. "See enough of the world to last you a lifetime?"

"Many times over," came the reply.

Nicholas spent a few minutes telling the three smiths about some of the places he had seen on his journey. Their interrogation of him ended with the resounding clang of the dinner bell. The smiths still at work at the surrounding stations carefully put away their tools and banked the forge fires.

The three smiths grinned widely and moved as one to walk toward the sound of the bell. Gareth looked back at Nicholas, one eyebrow raised in inquiry, when the alchemist hung back awkwardly. "You coming in to supper?" he asked.

"No, actually," Nicholas said. "You three go ahead without me. I wanted to see William and Perenelle -- and I heard they've been taking their meals in the bloomery."

Gareth nodded in understanding, then waved his hand as if to brush the dust of Nicholas from his tunic and said, "Ah, be off with you, then, we don't like the looks of you, anyway, world traveling-man."

Nicholas laughed and promised to drop by the refectory later. After supper, he remembered, the smiths and all often lingered in the mess hall for an hour or so to talk and have a pint of ale. There would be plenty of time for him to reacquaint himself with the greater population of the armory, Nicholas thought -- but after he saw William and Perenelle.

Quickening his steps to make up for the time lost in chatting with the other smiths, William strode west, making his way through the gathering dark past the last few forge stations until he came to the river and the blooming mill complex that sat on its bank.

From inside the building came two voices, arguing.

"I told you, it won't absorb any more of the charcoal!"

The voice was Perenelle's, and to Nicholas she sounded tired and impatient.

"Why not?"

Rude and petulant, the replying voice sounded like a small child speaking through the mouth of a man. Nicholas recognized it as belonging to Joseph, one of the senior smiths at the armory. Apparently he wasn't very pleased with the progress on William and Perenelle's pet project.

Intrigued, he moved silently to stand just outside the darkened doorway, trying to go unnoticed and not interrupt the argument but get a clearer view of what was going on.

Peering around the doorjamb, he saw with relief that Perenelle and Joseph both had their backs to him. They were both watching William and an apprentice removing hot bloom from the tapping arch at the base of the smallest smelting oven, seemingly oblivious to the conversation a few feet away.

"It just won't," Perenelle explained. "William taught me that iron gets stronger when you smelt it with charcoal and keep it away from the air." At the sound of his name, William, who apparently had been listening, turned around to look at his sister, regarding her with a mixture of pride and amusement. "And Nicholas showed me how to fix charcoal in steel using alchemy as a shortcut."

Nicholas smiled from the shadows of the doorway, remembering his pride on the day his pupil had finally mastered the skill.

"But now," Perenelle continued, "there's so much charcoal already in the steel that there's nowhere else to put it!"

"That's not a good enough reason. Surely an alchemist of your skill should be able to fix it --"

"It doesn't work that way! The only reason I was able to put more charcoal in it than William could is because alchemy is so much more efficient than smelting by fire. With alchemy it doesn't matter if the tapping arch isn't sealed properly or if the charcoal doesn't come into sufficient contact with the iron, because you can place all the parts exactly where they're supposed to go in the final product. I can't do anything more than what this blooming mill can -- I just do it better."

William chuckled at the prideful toss of his sister's head, but Joseph was not amused.

"If you can't make steel to keep up with the demands of the trade --" he began peevishly.

"-- then no one can," Perenelle retorted forcefully. "I'd like to see you try to do better."

William gestured harshly to his sister for addressing a master smith in such a way. "I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. "An alchemist can only make by the skill of her hands what a smith has first learned by the sweat of his brow."

Joseph scoffed and scowled as if trying to formulate a sufficiently nasty retort. Perenelle glared right back, and William tightened his grip on the tongs he had been using. Nicholas recognized the determined set of William's jaw as the first sign of an impending blow to the head. Before it could come to that, Nicholas stepped from the shadows to add the first lesson his father had ever taught him.

"Alchemy is science, not magic," he said, "and if you can't tell the difference, you've no business benefitting from it."

Perenelle and Joseph spun around to face the newcomer. The apprentice, too young to recognize Nicholas but grateful for the interruption, dropped his tongs and disappeared out the riverside door.

William's eyes grew round, his anger forgotten, at the long-lost form of his best friend: five years older, five years wiser, and five long years absent. Joseph, faced with the wrath of the famous alchemist Nicholas Flamel, looked desperately like he wished he had made his escape with the apprentice. Perenelle ran forward and threw her arms around Nicholas.

"Nicholas!" she greeted as she hugged him warmly. Awkwardly, he endured it -- not that he wasn't happy to see her, he was just unaccustomed to being hugged. She had hardly pulled away when something knocked into the side of his head.

Perenelle had cuffed him with one clenched fist. "Where have you been? You could have written, you know!"

"I did!" Nicholas protested weakly. "I wrote -- I sent one with a group of traders from Arnheim and another with that Hawkwood fellow --"

"Two letters in five years? That's nothing!"

"Let him be, Perenelle, you can yell at him later." William gently pushed his sister aside so he could shake his friend's hand. "Hello, Nicholas."

Nicholas returned the handshake firmly, trying to express in his grip everything the lump in his throat wouldn't allow him to say aloud. "It's good to see you again, William," he managed finally.

Joseph had vanished. Perenelle had banked the fire in the smelting oven and now stood in the doorway, a lit lantern in one hand and the other waving to someone coming up the path.

"I'm sorry, Perenelle, I would have been here sooner, but Tom cut himself slicing the bread, and then they needed me to help serve --" It was Elaine, coming with her promised pot of soup.

"Hungry?" William asked.

Nicholas sighed in relief. "Starving."

"Then stay for dinner," Perenelle called from across the room where she and Elaine were clearing a worktable so they could eat. "You can tell us all the tantalizing details that didn't make it into those two letters," she added tartly.

"Perenelle," William said warningly.

Nicholas laughed and accepted a bowl of soup from Elaine. He knew he deserved every last reprimand from Perenelle, but William had welcomed him warmly and without censure. Like a brother.

As Nicholas drank his soup, he felt like he'd never left. He was just starting on his second bowl when there was a knock at the door. Elaine rose from the table to answer it, but the door swung open before she could get there. A tall man in the raiment of a foreign knight entered, carrying one of the armory's lanterns and looking around curiously at the interior of the mill.

"I was told I could find Nicholas Flamel here," he said.

[Lorpius Prime]

2005.07.12 - Lorpius Prime - Hadar Amir - "Mid Life Crisis" Part III

The party had only been on the move for eight hours, and already Hadar was feeling worn. Some nights just seemed to take a heavier toll on him than others, he thought, that was all, nothing to be concerned about. He tried not to think about the fact that he felt this way more and more often, even though it used not to occur at all. Hadar was getting old, and there was nothing he could do about it, sooner or later he would have to face that fact. For now, he shook the thoughts from his mind.

The merchants and their beast handlers were currently singing a song from their homeland. Hadar had only a working knowledge of the Sindi language, and the fast pace and unusual grammar of the tune gave him trouble. He’d heard this particular one many times before, however, and not just on this trip. It was apparently part of an epic piece describing the exploits of a great Sindi warlord who had united much of the region to resist Xingian expansion back in the earliest days of the Empire.

Hadar found himself humming along to the melody, and checked himself. He looked up at the darkened sky. He furrowed his brow as he tried to judge their heading at this season and hour. Here in the desert with few landmarks and fewer roads, it was essential that travelers be able to navigate with the few resources afforded him, and more often than not that meant reading the stars. Hadar had oft heard traders tell tale of a great alchemist who could find his way exactly even on starless nights by means of a device he’d constructed. Though whether this man came from Drachma or Yamato, or even some mystical land on the other side of the Southern Desert no two people could ever agree. Hadar suspected it was merely part of Altakawan legend which had become muddled over time.

He was woolgathering again, another sign of his age that he did it so much now. Deliberately, he took a last glance at the sky, reached a conclusion, and rode to front of the caravan to make a slight adjustment to their course. He reached Raj Shandar, still mirthfully engaged in a ballad of blood and battle. Hadar rode up beside him and motioned in a direction slightly to the left of their current path. Raj nodded, waved to the rest of the caravan, and steered his great horse towards the direction Hadar had indicated, all without a break in the singing.

The group headed now towards the valley between two great windswept sand dunes. The last big storm had been four nights ago, and the wind had blown straight in their faces from up their path. Though that night they had made little progress, they seemed to be making up for it now, the land had been good to them, and Hadar expected them to reach their destination at the oasis a few hours ahead of what he’d been willing to plan. There was only a gentle wind blowing sand over the dunes’ steep forward faces.

Hadar resumed his place back at end of the line to keep watch over the entire caravan. As the two head merchants and their trail of camels with handlers entered the long slack between the leading arms of the dunes, Hadar heard a sound which made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and caused him to dive from the saddle and tear open his pack.

They were war horns.

Hadar’s blood ran cold as the desert rang again with the noise of what his memories told him were the trumpets of Ishbalan guerillas announcing the ambush.

[Theophrastus von Hohenheim]

2005.07.13 - Theo Von Hohenheim / Nicholas Flamel - "Open Mouth, Insert Foot"

"I was told I could find Nicholas Flamel here," Theo demanded, spurred on by his own exhaustion and still thoroughly annoyed his father had the gall to send a watchdog after him.

Dumbfounded, Nicholas stared at the stranger. He wondered how the knight had known to find him here when he hadn't been back to the armory in five years, and he couldn't imagine why anyone would take the trouble of following him to the armory. Could someone wish to read his book that badly?

William caught Nicholas' gaze and raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "Is this a friend of yours?"

The alchemist shook his head in reply and set down his bowl. Standing up and trying not to sound too curious, he addressed the stranger. "I'm Nicholas Flamel. What is your business with me, good sir knight?"

"I was told at Flamel's forge, the armor is very good. . . I-. . . I would like to purchase armor." Now that it came down to it, he faltered. . . the words "Dammit Dad, I'm a doctor, not a knight. . ." running through his mind.

"Flamel's forge?" sputtered Perenelle. She stayed in her seat only by virtue of her brother's restraining hand on her shoulder. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, but this is the Leyhara Armory --"

From her retreat behind William, Elaine gasped at Perenelle's brashness. That the man was a knight was clear enough from his dress and posture, though he strangely wore no sword and his badge was obscured by the fall of his long red cloak. For a craftswoman, even a master alchemist, to speak so to a knight was punishable by death in some regions.

"You must forgive my friend," Nicholas interrupted, trying to placate the man before he could draw his dagger and slit Perenelle's throat. "Though this is indeed my home, I've been away for a long time. I just arrived back today, you see, and this lady--" he gestured to Perenelle "-- is a former student of mine who graciously took over the post of resident alchemist when I left. As far as I'm concerned, the post is hers and I'm just an unemployed houseguest." Nicholas smiled self-deprecatingly and risked a glance in Perenelle's direction; her eyes were humbly downcast -- mostly because William had his hand on the back of her neck -- and though her mouth was pulled downward in a scowl, she wasn't angry enough to erupt again.

Theo scowled, "I don't care if a magical bird ran this forge. All I want to know is if you can make my armor or not- You again! I knew you were following me!" Theo spun around abruptly, cloak swirling, revealing Jie-Xian, who had entered close behind him.

"I have simply come to see about having something repaired."

Theo snorted, "Say what you want, I know Father must have sent you to keep an eye on me!"

"I have never met Bombastus."

"Well you can tell him from me that I'm buying the armor now, and then I'll return to go to Ishbal, like a bleeding good son."

She shrugged, "Return or not, it's not any of my business, Doctor Hohenheim." She bowed slightly and stood off to the side, waiting her turn to speak to the forge-masters.

Perenelle had raised her head to watch the exchange with interest, and she now wore a dangerously smug expression at the way the woman in the strange clothes had addressed the knight, who was apparently also a doctor.

"Er, Sir Hohenheim -- Doctor -- Doctor Hohenheim," began Nicholas confusedly, "perhaps you'd like to take some refreshment while we discuss what kind of armor you will require. We should send for a draftsman, and at this hour of the night, it may be a while before one comes. In the meantime, we can all relax and also speak to your, um, friend."

Theo opened his mouth to speak, but the Xingian spoke first, "I have only just met Doctor Hohenheim on my way here."

"Ah. . er. . .yes. . yes thank you . . . I would be most grateful." Theo became aware that he hadn't eaten anything all day, and his stomach ached for food.

Nicholas sighed in relief at the knight's cooperation. He smiled gratefully in a way he hoped was also reassuring at the woman -- for she had spoken with a woman's voice though she was dressed in the unisex style he had seen in Xing.

"Elaine," he asked, turning around to face her, "is there something we can offer these honored visitors?"

Perenelle snorted softly, but everyone ignored her.

"I -- I think there's a few skins of wine cooling by the river," Elaine said tentatively. She took a few steps toward the visitors.

"And I'll see if I can scrounge a few loaves of bread or something," Perenelle put in suddenly, freeing herself from her brother's protective custody and rising gracefully to her feet. She grabbed a lantern from the table and made a small show of curtsying to the woman of Xing. "My lady. . . sir." She delivered the latter with a bare nod of her head that paled in comparison to the reverence shown to the woman.

Before William or Nicholas could do more than wince, she had ushered Elaine out the door and the two of them had disappeared into the night.

[Lorpius Prime]

2005.07.24 - Lorpius Prime - Hadar Amir - "Mid Life Crisis" Part IV

Hadar’s mind raced. His feet did so as well, but he was hardly aware of that as he kicked up sand. How much time? How much time? Damnit, there was just no way for him to be sure. It didn’t matter; he had to try to reach the head of the caravan and the Shandar brothers.

Hadar sprinted as fast as he ever had, at least in recent memory, and his feet beat against the desert sand like a blacksmith’s hammer in the forge. He passed one of the beast handlers who still held a lamp to the darkness, Hadar reached out a hand and knocked it to the ground, dousing the light; he did not slow down.

He was within a few yards of the younger of the two brothers, Rama, and still there was neither sight nor sound of an actual attack on the caravan, just the two trumpet cries. But he could ponder the events later, if they survived. For now, the young merchant was still on his horse, looking about wildly.

Hadar leapt and grabbed Rama, pulling him off down the side of his horse.

“Raand kap—!”

“Shut up,” Hadar snapped, pulling the flailing merchant as close to the horse as he could. He looked forward; the other merchant, Raj, seemed to have a cooler head about him. He’d dismounted at least, though he was still looking about warily. Hadar decided Raj could handle himself for the moment. Hadar reached a hand into the sack he’d taken from his saddle, and pulled out the object inside.

“What is that?” Rama had apparently recovered a bit, and was staring at the cylindrical construction Hadar was holding.

“Something I picked up from a Xing trader,” Hadar lied as he snatched at his belt. Then he realized he’d made a large error.

“Shit,” he looked at the Sindi merchant still lying at his feet, “I need your tinderbox, quickly!”

Rama blinked, confused, but then he reached up to his own saddlebags and fumbled with one. Hadar looked around anxiously, but he couldn’t see anything through the darkness. There was still no sign of an attack, the beast handlers behind them were starting to murmur.

“Here,” Rama held out the tinderbox, and Hadar grabbed it out of his hand. He hastily struck flint to steel over the dried kindling. Mercifully, it ignited right away, and he touched the flame one end of the paper cylinder. Then he planted the device in the sand and pointed it towards the sky at a slight angle away from the caravan.

“Let’s see what we’re up against.”

There was a high-pitched shriek, and a sound like thunder coincided with a brightness that lingered too long to be lightning.

Hadar’s mouth fell open. He knew the fact that he would never work as a merchant’s guard again had little to do with his reputation.