Chowz's Blog

Congratulations were great and all that.
Medals and honors were excellent.
She should have been proud, she should have been just as excited as the rest of them and joined in their games and been a good sport like Tormund was. He tolerated dancing around in a circle and holding hands with the sugar-high little children as they bounced around and played in the rivers of mist.
Market town citizens would be delighted to hear of a new trading opportunity. They would have swam a marathon in their joy. She was probably not going to have to play diplomat as often anymore. He was probably going to be promoted as a knight by her uncle Skarl. They were both honored as Defenders of Neopia.
She should have been happy like the rest of them, and danced like a Miamouse on crack.
But she wasn't-the blue Acara was downright bothered. Tightness showed in the creases of her furry forehead.
Maybe it was because she was getting tired and just wanted to go home. No reveling in a feast, no reveling in general-Roberta wasn't one for having a reveling spirit anyway. Not a fighting instinct either, but she had expected the Darkest Faerie to be a lot more challenging than that. After what everyone had told her too…even Queen Fyora couldn't stand up to her and they could? Something was odd, different about their battle, it was a puzzle waiting to be solved…her brain was ticking noisily and it was aggravating her more and more.
Something changed-but what?
The girl felt a paw poke her in the shoulder and she realized that her male companion was snapping her out of a daze, giving her a concerned stare with his amber-colored eyes. Roberta also registered that her temple was feeling bruised and that she had been knocking her head against the side of the winged carriage for a while now. She glanced back at him with her own violet eyes, and below that a sheepish smile formed while her cheeks seemed to heat up.
"…sorry…"
Silence, again. It was hard to talk about much in front of her two uncles with Tor; they had shared their share of private conversations and jokes, dirty innuendos…something that two members of the royal family that were bred to be that way certainly wouldn't approve of. Otherwise she would have given her thoughts about this matter. Maybe King Hagan wouldn't exactly mind her concerns, but she didn't want to be brushed off about it. Tor was the one who fought with her and could understand. He was the only one who would bother to listen too-he experienced her mood swings and learned how to interact with her. Visa-versa hopefully.
He was the only one that she would trust with her feelings and with her brain surgeries. But what now, now that their adventures have ended and no one was supposed to care anymore?
Tired of even thinking, the Acara blankly stared at the outside. The clouds were no longer a rotten plum tinge anymore, and they no longer smelled faintly of century-old sewage. They were just white wisps that were quickly passing by, and the lavender towers of Faerieland, from what she could see from the back window, were also vanishing too like the Hidden Tower. Soon they took a dip into the cloud cover toward the land and the view was obscured. Water droplets began to hang themselves on the glass.
The one thing that could be told from gray was the gradual darkness. There was a storm over Meridell apparently; the irony never ceased to amaze her-
"Roberta."
"Hm?" Roberta felt jerked out of her trance by the collar.
King Hagan smiled kindly, ignoring the loud snores that had started emanating from his brother's pig-like nostrils, "I know you are a sorceress now, but you are still needed in matters of politics."
Being his majesty's niece, she was allowed to release an annoyed and tired sigh.
Then he continued, "A few days before the clouds appeared, we received word from the Lost Desert's ruler about a disturbing matter. When we replied, we received an urgent request for a sorcerer to be sent-and we couldn't do anything about it because our entire kingdom was fearful of the Darkest Faerie's power. But now that we don't need to worry about her anymore, I can trust you to travel over there and figure out what happened, especially since you are a sorceress now."
Now she was interested. Not because she could potentially abuse the power of her Wand of the Ancients and still wear the Legend Robes that was currently her attire of choice, but because this might relate to the Darkest Faerie…
"You will be going to the Lost Desert in about a week. I will still have Seradar accompany you to make sure you are unharmed."
She smiled in return, "Yes uncle."
The smile was wiped clean off, however, as she looked back at her armor-clad partner. Now he was looking out of the window of their carriage that showed the dismal scenery of the Meridell kingdom in the rainstorm, his ears drooping at the tips oh-so-subtly, his gaze avoiding all who were sitting around him (especially the slumbering Skarl), his handsome profile darkened by their area. That's right…he wasn't going to be joining her automatically anymore…he had duties back in the city. When his ears drooped like that, it meant that he was bothered quite badly; anything lower usually meant he wanted something or felt guilty. She tapped him on the shoulder and he faced her again, his expression unreadable.
"Hey, think of it this way Tor…" Roberta tried to help, "You get to go back and slice apart contestants in the arena in Meridell. Maybe meet a pretty girl or something. And maybe you'll get promoted to Man-At-Arms someday-"
Skarl grunted loudly. He must have heard that. Tor, on the other hand, flashed his pearly whites and responded, "Yeah. Hope so."
It wasn't convincing to her that she had helped him feel better though…if he was feeling bad at all. A fleeting tightness wound in her chest as she thought of him not caring at all…
…maybe she could just spend ten minutes at the feast and then go to bed…

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"Roberta?"
His face hovered outside the doorway of Roberta's temporary chambers. He watched the Acara laying facedown on her downy mattress and pillow, dressed in a loose white nightgown and partially covered by her comforter. A wiggle of her antennae showed him that she was still conscious, followed by the sideways movement of her head to see who it actually was. He waved at her; he himself was removed of all armor and instead put in a clean cotton shirt and pants. A fluffy yellow wolf-tail was wiggling at the same rate as his hand and still continued to undulate when he stopped. She smirked back.
"Hey Tor…you can come in if you like, you know. You're still my best friend."
He stepped through the threshold, feeling a twinge of annoyance at what she had called him-
"And you can close the doors behind you."
Tormund's ears pricked up. Slowly and almost cautiously in manner his paw reached for the brass handles and the double doors shut with a click and a squeak behind him. Roberta was now sitting up in her bed, the blankets draped across her lap and her eyes partially shut. A small smile was etched in her azure face…
"Come over here." To him, the voice was a hook, but even with no bait he would still bite. It didn't help that the room's lighting was dim because of only two candles lit on her night stand, nor that her night-black curls suited her features perfectly or the rose-pink lips-
What was he doing? Now she was giving him a strange look and he had ruined the moment. Again. Quickly he snapped back to sanity and hurried to sit on the edge of her bed, sitting away from her to hide his inner workings and the shame that he wore on his sleeve and ears. She still examined him for a minute before lapsing back into her more relaxed position, and he internally sighed. Yeah…stop being crazy. She's royalty, she doesn't even like you in that way…dirty jokes are only because they were alone together in that crazy quest to stop the psycho faerie…yeah. Stop torturing yourself, Tor, because there's no hope.
And she's going to be gone after tomorrow morning.
"…Is there something you needed?" Roberta asked the oddly nervous young man. He shrugged in return.
"I just got concerned…you left the feast so abruptly."
Her lower lip jutted out, her gaze averted, "Yeah…I…just wasn't that hungry…"
The blonde Lupe nodded. For once, a great silence stretched between them like rubber. This wasn't caused by the fact that they were busy fighting or that they were so tired their brains ached with the rest of their bodies as if they had the swamp-flu. This was awkwardness, and he knew he didn't like it. It didn't help that from the first moment he had met her he felt so immediately caring for her. First she was like a more mature version of Lucy, and then her unique traits started to come out in bold and he was fascinated by them when he had time to think.
More silence. He had to speak up now.
"…So…why did you make me close the door? You aren't going to assault me are you?"
It was not implying anything; honest. Roberta sniggered and punched him lightly in the shoulder when she had lazily butted over close to him on the bed, "Psh; you wish Tor. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that last battle with the Darkest Faerie…didn't you think it was too easy?"
Okay, thoughts about Roberta were over. It was time to go back to the…what? His brows furrowed, "Easy? Well…"
For a while he had forgotten about the fight and just remembered the celebration afterwards. It was a better thing to cheer up than to dwell on the past. But now that he thought about it…
The memory of the last battle came to mind.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Outside, the scenery was flying by, but rather than sideways like a train or an aircraft it was the sky going down to up and colored bright purple. Tor steeled himself for what may come, and then charged at the Darkest Faerie who had the nerve to keep her back to him. His sword glowed white as he prepared to give her a taste of the ancient blade.
Suddenly, he was swept back by a tidal wave of dark smoke to exactly where he started. Although the only thing he felt was pressure on his back and chest and the armor was light, Tor barely had any time to get up and respond to her next strike-a blast of pure white energy. Ah, the irony never ceased to amaze him. Except right then because he had no time to ponder, for he instinctively put his shield up. The plate of metal also glowed white and seemed to give off a thousand star-like creatures as it effortlessly bounced the super ball of energy back, and her spell struck her squarely in the face. Then he moved in, and made each strike count, spilling her shadowy blood and ignoring the demons that were swirling all around as Roberta was busy blasting them away-they were insects, she had the pesticide, and he was handling the queen while she distracted the workers.
The witch recovered and again he was pushed back, and again the process repeated itself twice more, but each time he was swept back it became weaker and weaker, until he couldn't even feel it and he shoved right through, making a great slash to her side and causing her to fall down with her stained hands clutching the oblique tightly. The process as a whole must have taken barely more than a minute and already her defenses were shot. She seemed to realize this too, as she struggled to get up from the blow…more fog, and he was set upon by what seemed to be a bazillion muscular skeith of rainbow colors and the silhouette of a woman with monstrous wings attempting to escape. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed at least one or two flashes; when he sliced through the monsters that were blocking his view Roberta had already flung the charm at the Darkest Faerie.
And then she began to set, concrete in a mold it seemed, while the constrictor necklace tied tightly around the evil one's scrawny neck and slowly choked the life out of her. Eyes grew cold…her hand dropped the bottle containing the imprisoned Fyora and it shattered, allowing its contents to escape. Before they knew it the sky became blue and the giant broken elevator of a city lurched to a stop at last…

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"…it wasn't what one would call 'exceedingly difficult', yeah…" Tor admitted, a paw rustling through his hair, "But it's nothing to complain about, right?"
She nodded, "Well, sure, but didn't you see that Queen Fyora with all her defenses and power couldn't stand a chance against the Darkest Faerie, and yet we could easily beat her down with time to spare to save the kingdoms? Even IF my wand or your sword is stronger than her rod-which is very unlikely and I apologize to King Altador-Fyora still has her powers as a faerie to back her up."
Tor turned to face her and sat cross-legged on the cushy bed, "I suppose saying that she was distracted wouldn't help her case either? I mean, we did have Jerdana's orb to finish her off, you know. I'm sure that we would have fared just as well if not worse against her without it."
The Acara turned onto her side and faced him as well, and she spoke, "The only thing keeping her standing up was whatever magic she had left in her body. When you were finished with her she couldn't even reflect my blows anymore…she was badly injured, very weak, with only enough energy to summon monsters so she could get away before the castle fell."
"I suppose. And you're sure that Jerdana's orb has nothing to do with it?"
"I'm positive. That assignment that I'm going to have next week…I think it might have something to do with why she had a sudden drop in power. Maybe how she awakened in the first place. While I'm there I'm going to research it, and…"
Roberta seemed a touch embarrassed as she paused, "…I'll write to you as well. As often if I can if you want."
"Sure, why not?" Tormund said to her, "We might not get the opportunity to see each other for a while-"
The blue neopet suddenly shot up into a sitting position with a cross face.
"I hate this."
He was startled. Her flashes of anger were rare and his tail drooped as he wondered what he had done to suddenly spark her off. What a time bomb that girl was.
Roberta continued, words zipping out like a bullet train, "Suddenly I'm going to have to leave and you're going to be going off to who knows where; we might never see each other again Tor. Not even counting on the fact that we may suddenly drop dead one day for some reason. Royalty seems to be oh-so-grand until you're a part of it. Then it's 'Roberta you gotta wear this' or 'Roberta you MUST meet this charming young man' or 'Roberta you need to act more lady-like; it's not good for a noble woman to cultivate fighting skills.' They tell you where to go, what to eat, who to love."
She sighed, cooling off a little bit, her forehead resting on her bent knees and her tentacles flopping around her ears, "The only time I had independence was with Seradar and…and you, Tor. I really wish that it could last and I could have more choice in the matter…"
"I'm sure eventually the King will finally understand that you're just not cut out to be a controlled type, Roberta." Tormund told her softly, rubbing her shoulder with his large paw as he would with his sister when she would get frustrated or tired. But this question would only be answered with the royal niece's head shake somewhat restrained by her knees.
The Acara looked up, "Never mind…sorry…"
Now he was confused.
Was she concerned about King Hagan's feelings if she told him she didn't want to be a part of royal life anymore? What did she mean by 'never mind?' Did that mean that she didn't trust him to help make her feel better or something? The Lupe pouted slightly as he thought of this, and that awkward silence was beginning to build up like soap suds again.
He heard her move a little and assumed immediately that perhaps she just wanted to go to bed now. Turning again and jumping off the bed, he looked at her for a last time.
"G'night Ace."
But as he was about to exit, there was a flurry of blanket followed by steps rushing to meet him from behind the boy. His arm never extended to the double doors because immediately following him rotating to see what was going on he was suddenly immersed in dark hair and blue fur. Arms tightened around his upper body and didn't seem to want to let go, as if he were the only thing to hold onto in a black storm.
Hugs were never a part of their friendship before.
Tormund felt weak at the knees, nauseous and awkward like a three-footed chicken laying a square egg. Things were supposed to be as such-successes were met with a high-five, or a noogie. Their disappointments were highlighted with plenty of bashing of so-and-so around a small campfire and a game of tic-tac-toe if they were feeling particularly immature.
At the same time, he felt quite pleasant as well. It was one of those things that he kept in the back of his head but sometimes emerged in his deepest dreams. Becoming a knight back then would have been an easy goal compared to this. Someone up in the yonder blue had to be looking out for him, even if the situation was hopeless.
Shyly, slowly, Tor made his own arms behave and they returned this rather out-of-the-blue gesture of affection. His wolfy head settled itself on the top of her own scalp and he breathed in more of her showered hair, while he murmured, "What's up?" with a chuckle.
"And you were about to leave your best friend with only a couple of words. Cruel Tor, just cruel."
She sounded happy, at least, despite the melancholy undertone.
"…g'night Tor. I really do want to see you soon…should I just send your mail to the castle?"
"Sure."
It was with reluctance, he noted, that she let go of him at last. And he, too, felt the same way. But again, when he tried to open the door, it seemed that something really was trying to keep him in this room with his best friend and-admittedly-that someone who he definitely felt very different about than any other girl who he had met in his travels. Although Prunella was kind of cute…but that would be going off on a complete tangent.
He hadn't even touched it again when someone knocked on the door politely. Panicking, the yellow wolf jumped away from the threshold as Roberta said, "You may come in…" and he realized that it was only an Aisha servant. The maid had opened the doors slightly at first, and then she opened them wider as she spoke in a feathery tone.
"Excuse me…are you Sir Tormund?"
Dumbly the boy nodded, and suddenly he caught his armor while his shield and sword were carefully placed at his feet. Again he was perplexed.
"But miss…I'm in the-"
He stopped, hearing chuckling and a strange smooching sound in the hallway. Yellow eyes curiously looked out from the bedroom and he could see two nobles. They did look awfully familiar…one was a flaming red Scorchio and the other was a lovely little pink Acara, with tinkling voices marred somewhat by a drunken air. Tor's body followed this couple, but he stopped at the corner of the hallway while they proceeded to go into his room.
What the hell.
"…that…was my room…was it not?" He stammered, spinning back on his toes to see the Aisha servant.
The mistress simply bowed and replied, "We do sincerely apologize for this…they demanded to have a room so we had to take yours; a noble's priorities rank higher than the priorities of a knight…I'm afraid there are no more places for anyone to sleep, master Tormund. We can make a makeshift cot for you if you like down in the dungeons, however."
Sleeping right above the sewers. He growled in the way that he would if someone had decided to sneak up on him and yank his tail very hard, if he were a Werelupe. For once he really did mind the whole system of nobles and 'the rest of them'; he came from a farm so even if he was the richest knight in the world he would still not have any choice in the matter.
The slorgs and the tentacles creeping around fifty feet beneath his back probably wouldn't be a huge bother, however. Resigning himself to his fate with an accented exhale, Tor decided to collect his weaponry and follow the servant downstairs.
"Wait."
The sorceress had appeared in the hallway as well, "It's alright; he can stay with me. Come on, Tor."
Her pink hand touched his arm and urged him to come back inside the nice warm bedroom with candlelight and dry floors, but he was stuck in place. Did she just say that…well, it's not like they hadn't spent nights together before but…he glanced at her uncertainly but the girl seemed quite adamant when she dismissed the Aisha. He found something caught in his throat; finally a swallow rid him of this clump and he was able to ask a question.
"Won't your uncle be concerned?"
She smiled back.
"Of course he will. But he gave you his trust, so if he does become angry I'll just remind him of that."
And with that, she successfully herded him inside, closed the door, let go of his arm and placed his sword and shield close to her wand. The Acara then proceeded to dive back into the sheets and waited for the Lupe to join her, and when he did, darkness enveloped the room. He watched her watching him in the dark for a while, she outlined by faint moonlight; he turned over at last and decided to try and actually fall asleep.
Later that night, he could have sworn that she was snuggling against his back. Tor turned over, carefully trying not to squish her nose, and his arms embraced her. Maybe the situation wasn't as hopeless as he had originally thought.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Light had barely started streaming in, and he knew that she was gone while he was half-asleep. He read her letter when his eyes could open, the one that she left on the pillow with a couple of her own hair strands, the first of her promised letters. He smiled like fog, and then he just sank.
Tormund would only get a couple more minutes of sleep.
Next week had come already. Again, she was in the confines of the winged carriage being led by Solarin the white Uni, and Seradar was sitting beside her with a very pensive expression on a face crafted for stoniness. The only thing that ruined the effect was her mentor's moustache which was practically alive and wiggled at the tips. But that was one of the only things that prevented her trip from becoming a total bore, the other being the memory of her receiving Tor's letter yesterday evening and she replying as quickly as possible. But besides that, it was a millimeter away from that point.
Still, the sight of the majestic dunes after napping during the small flight over the blank ocean was a relief. They were beautiful orange-gold hills; when they got closer the sand blew off of the tips and joined the wind. There seemed to be nothing wrong as their carriage landed on the scorching sands in front of the open doors, the only entrance through the city walls-the bazaar of Sakhmet was busy like it should be, and towers and sand castles gleamed in the near distance. No funny clouds or smells.
When Roberta picked up her wand from the bottom of the carriage and hopped out, however, she noticed that the gem in her wand was giving off a strange glow. The core of the blue gem was not like a loosely-twisted thread as it should have been, but it more resembled furious lightning and it was brighter than normal. Concerned, the girl reached into her traveling pack tied around her waist and pulled out the Faerie Globe that Illusen had not bothered to ask them to return.
The light orbs inside the crystal ball were, too, reacting quite strangely-they were flurrying around like snowflakes in a twister. And in her hands, the verdant crystal that was supposed to be cool to the touch was quite hot, and growing hotter and hotter…
Not wanting to burn her hands off and worry Seradar, she slipped the globe back into the traveling bag and tied her wand to her back with a handy red cloth she took from one of the more disagreeable ladies back at the castle. But she underestimated her mentor's powers of observation; his moustache was twitching again and he turned to face her, his back to the busy village of the Lost Desert.
"My lady, I see you have noticed that your magical items are reacting very strangely to this place. My motes have also started to seem…panicked. Even the dark motes. And the gem in my wand is acting in a very odd manner." The purple Gelert commented. He picked up his staff, focused his energies, and then attempted to fire a blast of magic. The blast seemed to go true, but then its path began to spin…it stopped, shaking, reaching out with tongues of desperation, and vanished. Solarin shied to this display and pawed the ground nervously; Roberta unhooked the white uni so it could go around freely and instantly the golden hooves left the ground. But the winged horse was heading toward the sea…
"How odd…" She murmured, "Do you think the source of this disturbance is underground?"
"We will have time to find out," He replied, and the Gelert led the way through the large city gates into the bazaar, toward the palace of the ruler of the Lost Desert. The apprentice followed quickly, clad in the white jumpsuit that was eye-blinding to the pedestrians and shop sellers that looked to see who the new arrivals were.
Time, hm? Well, that wasn't out of the question, the fact that they had lots of time on their hands to sort out this matter. For the moment nothing was going to come out and whack them in the back of the head, except for the potential thieves that could easily be taken care of by a nice shot to the rear. Confidently Roberta caught up to her teacher and they walked side-by-side, she looking at the various wares that they had for sale in the stalls while the wizard continued a straight course. One stall contained some rather fancy-looking daggers and a beautiful outfit that would be perfect for a traveling mage…still, nothing to suggest that he made custom wands, just an armorer. Before Solarin landed, she happened to look out Seradar's window and saw the ruins of another city across the long river; it finally clicked in her mind that the city over there was Qasala, recently found again and known for its exceptional skill in creating weapons. After this meeting there would be a need to fetch her horse, because she could probably put that faerie globe to more good use…
The castle loomed over the two, feeling larger and larger as they came closer and closer and consequently smaller and smaller. Chocolate-drop shaped roofs of toffee shine adorned the tops of the towers, and before them a cotton red carpet spread itself on the steps and it disappeared underneath the crack beneath the doors. Two Elephante guards stood steadfastly in front of these doors, adorned with silver-coated armor and vicious spears that were the shape and size of giant drackonack fangs, as well as curved swords tied to their belts for an overkill impression. Both of the guards glared at them warily, shifting to protect the handles of the doors, until finally their spears simply crossed over to form an X to block the two sorcerers.
"Halt. What business do you have here?" The one on their left, a fat and tawny creature with particularly bushy eyebrows interrogated gruffly. This time, she didn't have to speak for anyone; Seradar decided to reply.
"We have been asked to meet with Princess Amira to discuss an important matter that was alerted to our kingdom."
There was a long pause. The Acara felt distinctly uncomfortable, as if it was Tor having a stand-off with a group of Werelupes…finally the other guard spoke, this one younger with an impressive ponytail tied by a gold-threaded string. His ears did flare out a little, however, and he didn't give the impression of being any friendlier than his companion.
"Our esteemed highness, Princess Amira, is quite ill."
He sounded like the two should have been shot for not knowing this fact.
"However, we will relay this message to her counselors and if she is well enough to hold an audience you may visit her for a short time. If that is the case, we will send a messenger for you."
That was the end of that. Respectfully Roberta and Seradar bowed to the guards before turning back toward the shops. The girl could see the ruined city in the far distance, across the shining blue snake.
It seemed that they had time now.
"…Seradar, think we can shop for a little while?"

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Wow. Just wow. The new robes and gold circlets were beautiful. This was more loose and suitable than the legendary scuba suit, but it still felt just as safe if not more. The azure neopet wiggled her butterfly ears, just to see how the dangling hoop earrings would react in the reflection of the Grarrl-height mirror. They winked with a more intense version of their color, very similar to the yellow flames of the various candles and the heated ends of the wafting incense, and that made her content.
Roberta had bought the entire outfit with hardly any qualms. First, there was the short-sleeved beige silk dress reaching to her knees, the collar fitted with alternating pieces of blood and coral-red stones polished into rays and rimmed with bullion. A beautiful cape was next, one that had a golden Cobrall brooch to fasten it around her neck and a stripe across the middle of the cloth that also alternated between colors (this time deep azure and crimson). Golden braces were put on her arms, and they were fitted with a square piece of shining lapis lazuli toward the elbow and a line of jet toward the wrist all buffered by a bronze of a distinct reddish tint, with matching shin guards on her lower legs that seemed to be attached to her brown boots and suffocating her pants (it was rather uncomfortable to not be wearing pants with dresses). To finish the entire thing, a metal circlet of a rich topaz hue with a sunset-colored gem was placed comfortably on her head, balanced on those prominent ears and encompassing her entire head, bangs excluded; she was final on her decision, and she joyfully paid the money that the merchant wanted.
She thanked the Aisha who ran the store and emerged from the tent and the stall. But when she went out, it was like an old western movie-a fierce gust of wind blowing dust in one's face, the desert version of tumbleweed (which was a child's ball) rolling across her line of view. Unfortunately her opponent in this wild west interpretation was not there. It seemed her mentor was not meeting her yet, so perhaps she could visit Qasala and drop off a precious item there…
"With the power to dispel even the darkest magic, this should be a good power source…" The girl said to herself as she untied her Wand of the Ancients from her back. Oh, she would miss it, certainly…but not as much as she missed another wand of hers that she used for a while. Pointing it like a beacon, words flowed from her like water, and despite its unusual activity she was certain it would work.
"Solarin…"
She heard wing flaps and a white feather floated on the top of her newly-adorned head.
Like an automatic message from someone who was offline, the white Uni had arrived obediently and landed in front of its owner even though it hesitated for a moment before letting its feet touch down. He lowered himself to allow the mistress onto his back; she tied the wand back and it flopped to her left side opposite of her carrying bag, took the reins and they were back into the sky, a refreshing and continuous wind greedily lapping up her exuberant face. No words were exchanged between the rider and the ridee; rather, she gently pulled the way she wanted to go and the Uni turned. They flew over the large river separating the two and the bridge that bandaged them, flew over pedestrians who were pointing up or simply looking absentmindedly at their strange cloud. It was quick, but it was a relief from the otherwise intense sun, and her excitement was growing stronger when they went over the collapsing ruin walls and into the budding town of Qasala.
Solarin landed in the center of it all-more or less because of the fountain in the middle-Roberta jumped off, and in another instant he was flying back up with a nervousness in his clear blue eyes. She waved at him within her new outfit, and then searched for the weapons shop that was growing a large fan base for all who were serious about battling. The only problem? There were hundreds of shops despite it being a small place.
Her head was almost spinning off of its neck because of all the sellers and buyers around the fountain and the sandy road buffering it; there was a large food shop featuring the native spicy purple peppers that her mind conveniently forgot the name of and all associated dishes, as well as a-
And there it was, across the street.
It was practically a circus tent, but maybe about a third of its size and the scheme resembling peachy beach sand with a trail of red corundum bordered by many heads of wheat circling its waist. Roberta pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her forehead a little, then jogged lightly to the shop. She bowed a little to ease her entrance in the small way of the open tent, and subsequently stood up tall to examine the craftsmanship with feet padded by a luxurious carpet. Except for the entrance itself, it seemed that the whole place was surrounded by carved wooden shelves that in stark contrast to the floor were probably made of driftwood or desert trees and even smelled ragged. But the swords…Roberta leaned in to get a closer look at the blades, thinking of how much Tor would love to get his hands on one of these.
The collection glimmered and glinted, smiled with confidence. These swords varied from curved to straight to serrated like a Werelupe jaw, some simply made of steel but others tinted with gold, red, bluish-grey, and some even had a pearly sheen to them.
"You know how we get those ones to shine like that?" She nearly jumped and made a hole through the floppy roof when the shopkeeper spoke; it was like he had appeared out of nowhere despite logic pounding on her door. The speaker was a Lupe, orangey-furred and dressed in a rich indigo robe, with the cloth creating a shield for the top of his head against the fire from the sky. A Lupe…again, she couldn't help thinking of her friend when she shook her head.
He in turn beamed, "We use imported Drackonack teeth. When you powder it, you mix the powder with the steel and temper it several times, and the powder is practically a metal of its own with magical properties. It makes the blade almost indestructible and gives it a characteristic sheen. Werelupe teeth are even better, but god knows we can't get a hold of that…they're more likely to tear us to shreds with those jaws, and self-preservation runs high among us merchants…oh, but please keep it a secret; only a few blacksmiths know this trick. A lot of others think we just paint it or cover it with copper leaf…by the way…"
Werelupe teeth…the Acara's brain went off on a tangent and thought of the time when they had gotten a whole necklace of them in the tombs of the Werelupe Woods. She numbly heard him rambling on and saying that those blades cost at least 30,000 neopoints, and she only registered that she herself said something about three seconds later.
"Would a custom wand cost the same thing?"
He looked surprised at first, then intrigued, "Well…depends. Am I making this from scratch like the wands over there?" The Lupe shopkeeper pointed at the shelves on the opposite side of the store, lined up with a myriad of precious wands that she could also see would rival those from Altador. Various power sources were used, the cheapest ones being enchanted rubies and sapphires and the more expensive ones using magic skulls encrusted with opals and gold, melted-down Aisha charms that made pretty shapes like an eye or a Cobrall, orbs and other gems infused with a crackling spell. This was a good shop indeed…good judgment on her part to come here, "Or do you have ingredients that I can work with?"
This was the cue. Roberta smiled serenely and pulled out the crystal orb that belonged to Illusen. She felt a sense of pride as a mouse's gasp was emitted from the robed Lupe, a sense of happiness when the brilliant green light spilled throughout the tent's space, a sense of suspicion as the spots were still spinning around on an out-of-control merry-go-round. She allowed him to approach and pick it up gingerly, examine it with a curiosity that she swore she would only see in a five-year-old neopet. She was relieved when he said with an impatience to start, "Well then, this will do nicely…I won't have to work so hard…but may I see your wand?"
"My wand?" She asked. He seemed to be competent enough; why would he want her wand? Still, she forfeited it to him, untying it from her back. The shopkeeper also examined it carefully for a while, pacing back and forth and occasionally looking at the globe in his other paw. Finally he nodded.
"If you'll allow me, my lady…"
She felt thrown back by some force; when her violet eyes opened again the Lupe was glowing white and her wand and Faerie Globe were doing a sort of slow waltz around each other. The crystal from her wand suddenly removed itself from the rest of the metal and it clunked to the floor despite the padding. Soon the orb and the gem were spinning faster and faster like the blizzard inside the green, then their individual forms were lost as they became kiwi and blueberry pieces in a high-powered blender. Finally, a bright flash of cyan light engulfed them all, and she closed her eyes again and covered them with her arms just in case…a great stroke of heat, followed by cold…
The temperature returned to normal, as did the most of the lighting inside the tent. The girl shook her head to get rid of a buzzing sound in her ears and it did go away, but the soft cyan color that she saw a moment later being lit on her hands didn't. She looked up, and the two individual pieces that she had given to him were gone. Instead, a cobalt-blue orb slightly smaller than the globe Illusen had given her-about the size of a naval orange, if her item could be considered a grapefruit-was innocently lowering itself until it rested in the paws of the wizard-blacksmith comfortably.
"…" Roberta was at a loss for words.
Did those items just…fuse together?
She stood up, brushing herself off of any dust, and re-adjusted the circlet on her head. This somehow allowed her to capture her voice again, "…what just happened, sir?"
He laughed, "What just happened? Why, my dear, I have created an even more powerful power source for your future wand!"
She blinked owlishly, "How…?"
"Ah, you are still a student I see. Well…"
Clearing his throat for a dramatic effect, the Lupe held up the orb proudly, "Mystic orbs and other objects like it are simply a physical representation of a concentration of magic, just like motes. When one can do this correctly and has enough focus and enough energy, one can be able to fuse magical items together to create an item that practically multiplies the individual properties of the ingredients. This is what the Island Faerie from Mystery Island does or can do on a regular basis, and this is what weapon-masters do to make the best weapons possible.
"I trust you are familiar with using motes. Amateur wizards and knights don't realize that they do almost the exact same thing with the motes when they use them to power up their weapons. The motes fuse themselves, at least temporarily, into the sword or wand. Why it's so easy is because motes are not particularly high concentrations of energy and thus don't take a completely solid form, but when you get artifacts like the Faerie Globe and the core of your wand, it takes a considerable amount of skill to bring them together. I am honored to be able to do this for the fifth time in my life…"
Wow. Just wow. Roberta nodded, reaching out for the new power source and cradling it with both of her hands. She felt soulful vibrations while it kept contact with her skin…the first one was smooth, but the rest felt increasingly jagged…
"Especially during these times…" The desert Lupe took the orb back with a sad expression, "The wands have become sensitive and have stopped working as effectively. That's why I have at least twice as many swords as wands…"
"I'm sorry, sir…"
"Ah, we'll just have to deal with it, won't we?" He also picked up the Wand of the Ancient's handle, now cold silver and iron, and put it on one of the shelves with the orb, "Hmm…with a core this strong, though, I'll need to make you a rod that will be able to channel your energy as efficiently as you can get it to."
"Oh, wait a second…" The girl fished through her bag again, sifting through a huge amount of neopoints and some food items she brought along for the trip, until she reached a bottle filled with a shining powder. Lifting it, she held it out for the Lupe to see, "I have a bottle of faerie dust you can use if you need it as well."
He grinned, taking it, "Ah…now I won't have to work so hard buying this. Come back tomorrow morning, and you will have one of the best wands in all of Neopia."
"But what will I do for a wand in the meantime?" The question popped out like the weasel, and she was too late to shove it back in when her hands flew over her mouth in embarrassment. This induced a chuckle, followed by a generous proposal.
"In the meantime, you may borrow that wand that has the…yeah, that one. That pretty one with the Cobrall that has ruby eyes and a red orb in its mouth. It should do in case you run into some of the more vicious varieties of Scarabugs…and now I take my leave; I'm really hungry…I think I might faint…"

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Roberta tied the intern wand with that bright red cloth securely as she walked out of the shop; with the amount she had to pay she didn't have enough to buy Tor a nice little Drackonack-powder sword as a souvenir. Maybe next time…then they could go together, he could pick out the one that he liked best…
She had barely stepped out, though, when she heard a rush of air above her followed by the cushioned sound of hooves. "Roberta! Robertaaaa!" someone was calling out; she hurried to find the familiar source-a somewhat panicked Seradar. He had only been like this, with his ears distinctly curled, a few times before when she was younger and she had decided to wander around town without checking with him first. Now, he knew where she was going…there could be only one other reason why he seemed uncharacteristically flustered.
"I'm coming!" Her robes flowed around her coolly; Seradar got on the back of the pony and helped provide some momentum to get on Solarin. She hung on tightly to his waist as they flew into the careless air that played with the elongated moustache of the royal sorcerer. Meanwhile, she felt like they were going a lot faster than normal. Even behind the purple Gelert and his broad robes she still heard a screaming rush in her ears and felt a freezing toward the tips, and she could barely keep her eyes open and watch the wing flaps of the flying unicorn.
In almost no time at all they went over the vast stretch between the two places, over the river and far away, and they were taken directly to the front of the castle where the guards waited with an irritated manner. Indeed, the snowy Pegasus actually had to screech to a halt and accidentally sprayed a wave of sand onto the protector's faces, which they snorted out of their trunks and obviously didn't appreciate. The two wizards smiled pleasantly and sheepishly, leapt off of Solarin, and they were ushered inside the castle and led by a desert Kacheek into the main court.
Instantly both of them felt shivers. She noted that it was a lot colder in here, winter cold, the type of cold where one would turn off the air-conditioner because one could freeze salmon and keep it here for a month without it going bad. Everyone else was wearing layers of clothing, but the only one who wasn't was the princess herself, sitting on a high chair and decorated with color-coordinated jewelry. Her short hair was put up as high as possible and her round, tanned head and curvaceous body were leaning against the back of the chair weakly.
All in all, Princess Amira didn't look too happy to be sick.
Student and teacher exchanged glances, then came within a few feet of her majesty and bowed. As she did so, Roberta noticed that her wand had started shivering uncontrollably, a tiny freezing dog on her back. It was reacting yet again, but it was so much stronger…why? Roberta glanced up momentarily from her deep bow to the princess, and realized that the rod was pointing to Amira.
Maybe she really wasn't sick, per se…
But the witch would have to ignore that for now. Straightening herself, she proceeded to be the diplomat that she was raised to be.
"My lady, Princess Amira, thank you for allowing us to meet with you in person. My uncle sends his best regards from Brightvale."
The princess replied cordially but weakly; her voice was grated, like someone had scratched her throat with an old rusty fork, "And we send our best regards for him, and thank you for taking the time to travel to our country to meet with us. I must apologize for the behavior of my guards; they didn't seem to know that I was expecting you…"
A great rattling cough, empty and frightening and whooping and ululating, erupted from Amira's lungs and she collapsed onto her own lap. The advisors panicked and her maids kept her from falling from her chair; she almost swatted them away while pulling herself back into a proper sitting position, but she was shaking horribly, horribly. There she was, in front of them a toothpick girl with a twenty-pound boulder strapped to the head.
Seradar remained silent. Roberta decided to follow his lead and only show an anxious face, whilst ignoring the shuddering ringing her shoulder blades. Just like that one time in the Faerieland clock tower…but that was going off on yet another tangent.
"…" The Aisha princess inhaled a few times, picked up a goblet that was conveniently located on a stand next to her chair, and she downed what looked to be a rich red liquid with an obnoxious odor in a few gulps, "…so…what I have asked you to come for…"
The goblet dropped from her hands gracefully and clanged loudly on the floor; the maids hurriedly gathered it within clothed hands and removed it from their majesty's presence, "If you couldn't tell already, there is a dark force that has suddenly started to flow on the desert's sands…magical items are going awry, over the last few days there have been more reports of neopets infected with sleeping sickness…someone has accidentally broken a seal, if I recall correctly, and now the darkness is growing stronger…every day, more clouds have been gathering in the sky, a sky where none should be flying in…it is getting colder…"
She rested herself again, "…we were hoping that a foreign wizard could help our magicians remove this dark presence, or at least search out the source and destroy it…and since Brightvale has some of the best foreign wizards and witches…we must ask that you aid the Lost Desert and stop this evil for good…"
The Acara nodded to the Gelert, and he stepped up to the plate, "You have made an excellent choice, my lady. I am Seradar, an advisor to the throne and court wizard of Brightvale, and as an honorable member of the court I swear to you that I will aid your magicians in searching for the source of this dark magic and getting rid of it."
"You have my help as well, my lady," Roberta said respectfully, "As a defender of Neopia, I, Roberta, will swear to aid the Lost Desert in vanquishing this evil."
There was a stretch of silence. Her heart skipped a beat; had she said something inappropriate? But no, the advisors were simply waiting for their princess to speak up. Or collapse on the spot, because she was so sick and needed to rest on a bed filled with ice cubes. Amira's breathing was labored, and the blue neopet could even feel the radiation of heat crashing over her. Suddenly the room wasn't too cold, it was too warm. And then the Aisha cracked a smile and spoke at last through a curtain of sweat.
"…you are very kind, and very lucky, my lady…"
Lucky…for not being sick?
"…you are allowed to be who you want to be…you are free to practice magic and be happy in this world…"
Her heart was twisting a little. It was so melancholy, a phoenix's mournful cry almost.
"…I see you are in love…"
An image of Tor smiling at her and offering half a Peachpa…she took it and bit into the soft fruit, enjoying its super-sweet rush of flavor and juiciness. Some of the juice bubbled and bounced down her chin and he had offered her his handkerchief that his sister had made for him, the one that was now in her carrying bag for safekeeping. They laughed…the light motes seemed to enjoy it too, because they made necklaces and crowns for them-
Blood was spilling at her feet. A retching sound resonated and the attendants screamed; she backed off to see that now the princess was regurgitating blood. Shock kept her in place while the bodily fluids leaped onto her shoes and new clothes, only watch as torrents continued to flow out of her endlessly, and the blood became darker and darker, thicker until they had the consistency of grape jelly, with air bubbles trapped in them while it slowed and oozed out. Roberta was mortified; they ceased, and Princess Amira looked as if she had just dined on a fresh carcass.
The blood was turning purple; Roberta's wand was jerking crazily and Seradar had suddenly yanked at her arm, dragging her toward the doors that would lead to the outside world. She heard shrieking as she rushed to keep up with him, splashes of a flood and a ripping through metal. There was no time to wonder whether the guards were trying to kill each other off-
That blood, the purple liquid…it ran across the walls from both sides and blocked their way, formed a high wall just before they could reach the door. The Gelert's wand was also shivering uncontrollably yet he managed to charge up his motes, and they turned white and loyally used their powers to their fullest extent. A wave of varying colors hit the door; Roberta uncorked a starlight potion for good measure.
Nothing worked. The motes dissolved in a futile attempt along with the energy of a thousand stars and the bloody wall churned sideways. Several feet high it reached, and when the diplomat attempted to reach out and see if she could physically get through it, it erupted spines followed by a large, boiling arm and scratched her sleeve. The Acara yelped and jumped back, seeing it leave deep gashes in the sleeve that probably saved her arm, and it was rimmed with the poisonous-smelling liquid. These stains evaporated with a hiss that was distinctly reminiscent of freezing water applied onto molten rock; slowly, she turned around with her mentor and watched Amira's slow scuttling toward them. Those Aisha eyes had transformed and were now glowing eerily, her mouth moved like it was being pulled by strings and words were hissed in the same manner. Those words couldn't be hers…
"…it was me…they found me…I have brought myself into his world…"
Instincts compelled Roberta to back away, but she looked down and saw what was blocking her feet-the dark liquid was growing ever darker and it was clogging her boots, and it was swirling around her and growing up to her knees like mud in fast forward. Seradar was also helpless; his wand was suddenly wrenched from him by more liquid morphed hands and they wrapped themselves around his arms. The old man was much too old for screaming; he just stood there shivering wretchedly in place, eyes widened, pupils constricted, while a bloody snake raised itself from the sea of the court and reared its head.
"NO! Stop this, please Amira!" Roberta pleaded, struggling against those watery hands that also pulled her wand away and made it lost underneath the bilberry swirls. Darkness was enveloping, and her eyes were stinging and tearing, but she did witness the serpent strike…its fangs crushed through the old ribcage and fragile bones; there was an ugly crunch, crack, yelling for mercy while air was sucked out of the lungs along with the sounds of the churning ocean, a sizzling, and his blood was added to the ocean and temporarily tinged it crimson. She saw him be swallowed whole, from the head, by the snake, and the waters rose higher while the serpent's head met the surface and it merged with the rest.
"He has returned at last…he shall consume the worlds in his wrath…"
Earsplitting, lightning sound, coming from the Acara's mouth, tears salting up her tongue, and it was joined by the crazed laughter of the princess while she became dissolved in her own creation, disappearing underneath the sea of bile…
Yes, she had screamed, and the blood flowed into her mouth and over her face, to gag her with fifty pounds of liquid copper, to silence her…to blind her…to put her to sleep…

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"It's okay…you were just dreaming…"
The bow was perpendicular to his body, and he fitted the arrow onto the string. A digit touched close to the head to keep it steady as he turned it upright, parallel, and he turned his body with only his head facing the target. The bow and arrow were drawn back closer to his shoulder, and his left arm pushed out while the right kept three fingertips on the string, adding more and more tension to be turned into kinetic energy. He squinted at the target a little, found where he wanted to go, and when he felt that he had stored enough energy his fingers slipped. Tor's arrow was now propelled by the force of the first vibration, and it was gliding rapidly. The archer, however, was startled that it had gone completely straight.
On the one that he had decided to aim more to the right. It passed the target board completely and bounced harmlessly against the stone walls of the castle courtyard, and a nearby Turtum jumped back into its metallic shell in fright.
He sighed in a frustrated manner. Archery was fun for sure, but…this was just pathetic. Of the eleven arrows he had shot, only about four had made it on the target; the rest lay scattered in various places with their conspicuous coloring distinguishing them from the grass or earth or cornfield that they were sitting in, and of the special four his closest was in the blue area. Tor was alone in this area of the courtyard at the moment, so there was no excuse that he was distracted.
He was just not going to be anything more than an infantryman anytime soon. The young knight sighed, his paw scratching through his short yellow locks on his head as he began to pick up the arrows and gently coax them out of wherever they had fixed themselves into. Well, okay, maybe he was distracted…thwarted, rather, by the fact that his mail buddy had neglected to reply for three weeks now. She was either in a lot of trouble, or she simply forgot all about writing. Rationality would have pummeled him, saying that there was no way she would simply drop him after all they had been through, but another something in his heart was dragging a heavy bucket full of water, dipping a ladle into it, and splashing the rational voices with it. Roberta could defend herself just fine; she had a powerful wand and a powerful wizard to protect her. Things back in the land of sands couldn't be that terrible…the sad spirit with the ladle continued to splash gloomily and his judgment swayed toward her not caring.
He heard voices coming around the corner. Tor hastened his arrow collecting, finding the ones that had bounced off the walls much more easy to get rid of than the others…no need to humiliate oneself in front of a knight or even a squire who was much better at archery than he was…there was the last one; he hurried to put them in the stationary quiver and loosened the bow so the wood would stay resilient.
Phew. That was a close one. The neopets that were talking had just arrived. Thankfully it was just Lady Prunella and Lord (formerly Sir) Lawrence sharing some kind of gossip, but he himself still pretended to be practicing with his sword instead in one of the cornfields, chopping down the plants effortlessly with a single swing from the well-crafted sword. One, two, three…organized slashes and the stalks fell to the blade that the original owner, King Altador, never asked him to return. But no-one would really complain about the corn, honestly; it was for feeding the Turtum, who began gathering around the fence and even tried to go on their hind legs when he tossed them a few of the stalks for them to nibble on.
"Good day!"
"Good day, Sir Squire!"
Lawrence waved and walked casually over to where Tor was "practicing", with his lady Aisha following joyfully and giggling at all the petpets.
"G'day, my lord and lady," the knight replied, sheathing his sword and smiling brilliantly, "And to this day I still don't know why Sir Squire sticks so much."
"Better be glad that I don't call you 'Taco', like my sister does," she waved about absentmindedly with a free hand, the other stroking a velvety petpet head while she kneeled lightly on the grass. Her lavender dress attracted the interest of the crowd of animals; some attempted to push their faces underneath the skirt out of curiosity. Both the happily married Lawrence and the lonely single Tor grinned at this sight…and the Lupe pondered over "Taco". He often couldn't tell who was the more serious between each other, Roberta or himself…she squealed "KITTIES" when she saw Meowclops and would easily have come up to a Drackonack to scratch their backs if he hadn't pulled her back. On the other hand, he didn't do much better around a Doglefox, and treated Miamice as if they were delicate flowers while whispering cute little phrases as he carried them, something that he would have gladly shot himself for if he was actually heard…
"So anyway, did you hear Tor?"
"Hear about what?" He asked, seating himself on the wooden fence surrounding the field with his legs dangling like a little boy. The Techo almost smacked himself in the head, deciding to instead make a waxing motion with his hand on his forehead. Tor laughed, "Well, if you start out so vaguely then how can I know what you're talking about! There must be about seventeen rumors flying about the castle."
"Oh, but this is really important; it's not a rumor at all. I can't even make a joke about this because our new Man-At-Arms is missing," Prunella nodded to further qualify her husband's statement.
His eyes widened, "Why?"
All hopes in his heart were frantically running around screaming that it couldn't have anything to do with the Lost Desert, none at all, and they instead of butterflies began to make his stomach feel queasy. Yet, he knew that had been a stupid question, because he remembered squire Grayson talking to one of the new recruits on clog-duty that their master had left on a mission to a faraway place and he wouldn't be back for about a week. It had been three weeks…he could literally feel the sun burning his neck in his imagination.
"Wow…" Disappointment can take the place of the sun, "I must say…you must have been really distracted in order not to hear anything at all. Norbert, who is the Man-At-Arms by the-alright, alright, maybe I can crack a small joke-well, he was sent off to the Lost Desert with a small group of troops to find his majesty's niece…are you alright?"
Hell no. His legs stopped swinging and his brows furrowed like they were attempting to copulate. The knight only managed to mutter a shaky "Yeah", gripping the fence a little tighter and assuring his palms that they would indeed get a splinter stuck under the skin. Husband and wife, the latter standing at this point, looked at each other and shrugged.
"I suppose it is a shock, Squire, that even our own Man-At-Arms hasn't returned. This happened once before when the Werelupes attacked Illusen, remember?" The lady said, patting "Sir Squire" on the shoulder.
Lawrence agreed, "And we all know what happened after that."
"So…who's been sent to retrieve them both?" Tor asked tentatively.
The married couple, again, exchanged glances in a more uncomfortable manner. Prunella's extra ears drooped noticeably, "Illusen was asked to assist…but she's disappeared. It's taken most of our forces to subdue the Werelupe pack…"
This was the main reason why Tor was practicing archery, so he could help keep those mangy lisp-prone dogs from attacking the castle and raiding the glade. He had also wanted to see the giant Turtums that they used to create a wall that blocked every exit from Meridell and Lightwater forest, grown to about twenty times their normal size…but trivial things like that were now absent from his mind. What mattered was that Roberta…
She was in serious trouble. That little being that was tossing the water on the rational voices was promptly tied up, gagged, dragged to the edge of a cliff, and shot several times until the bloody body fell off on its own accord. He had been barely paying attention while Prunella finished her sentence, "…so he's not going to sacrifice anyone else. Are you sure you're okay? Well, you don't need to worry your cute little head off, Sir Squire, Hagan's contacting Queen Fyora and they should get an answer any day now…so Brightvale should have it all under control."
They should, is the key.
The knight waved halfheartedly as he walked away from the bewildered couple.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

"I must speak with King Skarl…" The Lupe pleaded, "It concerns the Man-At-Arms-"
"You know, you'd only have to ask any one of us normal people to verify the facts," Said the Draik irritably, "He's in a bit of a mood thanks to this conflict with the Werelupes…you really shouldn't go bothering him with something trivial…"
"It's not…just let me through already."
He forcefully shoved aside the guard and cautiously opened the huge doors leading to the court. With a creak the boy managed to create a space large enough for him to squeeze through, but he heard the bark of a particularly grumpy king and instinctively he stopped right in his tracks.
"Boy, if you want to speak to me, you should come closer!" Skarl shouted at him from across the room; he was sitting on his throne, being the lump of blue blubber that he was, and making that characteristic impatient "bbbbruhh!" sound after he spoke. Yeah, he wouldn't be very intimidating, if he weren't the king and if he weren't a thousand times smarter than he appeared to be. Skarl was very, very unpredictable too…
"Yes your majesty," He replied respectfully, and he mentally slapped himself. This wasn't the first time that he spoke to the king! He was generally in his majesty's favor, so he had nothing to fear. Of course, he hadn't requested to go off on a mission during a fierce war with a tribe that threatened to take over the kingdom of Meridell…
Tor stood as straight as possible, so the king wouldn't complain of him having poor posture, "Your majesty, I would like to-"
He was cut off as Skarl said abruptly, "Get to the point boy! I don't have all day to listen to your preamble; I've already got enough on my plate with this conflict with those mangy dogs and Illusen's disappearance…so what did you want?"
To appear too submissive at this point would be dangerous. Tor nodded and continued, "I request permission to rescue the Man-At-Arms, your majesty."
There was a pregnant pause. He felt his insides bubbling slightly. Talking to Skarl could sometimes be like walking on eggshells barefoot…hopefully he hadn't said anything offensive. Or maybe the guard was right; this was trivial and he was going to be very angry…
"Well, that wasn't too hard, was it?"
At last. He sighed softly in relief.
"And by the way, no."
Tor's golden eyes widened considerably. Before he could stop himself he burst out, "Please, your majesty-"
Realizing what he had just done, the boy silenced himself instantly at the sharp glare that he received from the Skeith. Just wonderful. He had dared to plead with Skarl, beg Skarl, question his judgment. Oh boy…he didn't have a beheading to look forward to, thankfully, as he was a dependable knight that even the king couldn't deny, but at best he was going to be thrown into the moat to come back all soggy and humiliated. He closed his eyes, preparing for the order of a few lashes across his soon-to-be-bare back…
"I cannot afford to lose any more knights. You are, admittedly, one of my better fighters, even if you are an embarrassment at archery."
Thank god.
…he had been watching?
"I know why you want to do this-Norbert is a pain in the ass, and you barely know him-but my brother is handling everything. And right now, we must focus on the task at hand, which is sending those puppies back where they belong."
He sighed, yielding to his lord. In the back of his mind that little ladle man was back, saying softly that Meridell wouldn't be prospering so if it weren't for Skarl's leadership, so he was right and there was nothing that couldn't be done. They really did have to worry about those Werelupes, who had transformed into a mob much stronger since Roberta and he recovered the charm for Illusen, becoming more savage than before if that were possible and creating new weapons that were created out of bone and iron-and they were next-door-neighbors who wouldn't mind taking over the village and pillaging all of its supplies before turning it into another empty swamp. The furry bipeds were less involved in his thinking at the moment; Tor was just grateful that he wasn't being severely smote.
"Yes, sire."
The Lupe bowed again, even more deeply than before, and proceeded to leave. But he had barely turned around when he heard the order.
"Guards, throw Sir Tormund into the moat."

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Laughter was following him through the halls while he made his way back to the barracks. It was gentle, although someone practically shrieked in mirth once, and he winced. Yes, he did look like a puffer fish, after he had taken out most of the dampness on the Draik guards that helped him out of the moat. They didn't seem to mind too much, at least, finding the humor in his fur becoming spiky and his armor regurgitating the moat water. And they were the only ones that didn't make him feel completely humiliated…they actually comforted him, patting him on the back and saying, "At least you didn't get twenty lashes."
They continued to tell the gruesome tale of the knight that attempted to defy his lord. He had received fifty lashes, and about an hour afterward he had died while bleeding through his armor, still proudly practicing his sword-fighting skills and reopening his wounds. Actually managing to make the Lupe feel better was questionable, but it was an attempt nonetheless, and made him ever so grateful that he had some friends. Grayson was another friend, who gave him a sympathetic look and then helped him out of his armor as a good squire would do once he was inside the quarters.
"Hope this doesn't rust," the green Lupe, only about a year older than Tor, said while hanging it up on the wall near the knight's bed. He then fetched a dry towel, waited as the other Lupe dried himself off more efficiently and changed into new clothes, and then Grayson joined him on the bed, sitting at the edge and smiling cheerfully.
Tor blankly looked at him from his position, which was lying down on the bed facing the ceiling until he actually lifted his head a little to view his friend. A minute of this passed, and then the squire said, "You know, that was kinda brave. Even if you did get tossed in the moat for it."
How it spread so fast the yellow Lupe didn't really know, but apparently people knew what it was all about.
"What, pleading to the king?"
"Is that why?" The green Lupe tilted his head to the side.
"Uh…yup…?"
Never mind, then.
"Well…uhm…anyway, I wouldn't have had the guts to go up to King Skarl and ask if I could go and embark on a dangerous mission…I wouldn't have even had the guts to go on that mission."
"Which I am not going on…but thanks anyway, Grayson," Tor turned on his feathery bed, away from his friend, resting his eyes. The moral support was nice and all, but his soul still felt put-down. Every single night he was tortured by the same dream, where he would witness Roberta being punctured by violet crystals; every night it became worse and worse…would Fyora be able to help in time, or would his dreams become a ghastly reality? Either way, he personally wouldn't be able to intervene, make sure the job was done and Roberta was safe.
He didn't notice Grayson staring at him until he became uncomfortable and turned onto his other side. Another minute passed, but just as he was about to make a remark about how queer it was, the squire suddenly said, "Surrendering doesn't really suit you, Tor. Even I feel a little depressed…"
"What?" Tor sat up, confused. He listened as Grayson continued.
"You know what I think? I think that you're going to go and do the mission anyway. And you know what else? Just keep in mind that they've blocked off Drackonack ridge as well, so you'll probably need to go through the sewers."
"But why?" He asked him, as the minutes passed on feeling more and more like he was talking to a stranger. A friendly stranger, of course. But as he knew this squire, Grayson was a more stick-to-the-rules type of guy even if he couldn't enforce those rules himself. The young man of before would not have suggested anything so daring as going against the king's orders…even he, Tor, a more rebellious and adventurous type, didn't want to directly disobey his majesty.
But the other one just stared at the ground, finding the wood floors suddenly extremely fascinating, "…you know…when I finally woke up, I knew that a lot of things needed to change before I could feel better about going to sleep. Being under her influence makes a person realize a lot…"
That determined expression…it reminded the knight so much of that lovely sorceress…
"You have also been…well…anyway, you should leave just before daybreak…the guards won't be awake…"
They stared at each other, topaz gazing into…more topaz. Suddenly Grayson looked away again, as if embarrassed, and he promptly bounced off the bed and left for his own cot.
Tor decided to take a nap as well.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Again, he strained his ears to listen for any sound louder than the scurrying of Miamice in the storage room. So much so, the ears felt like they were just itching to hop off of his head and go their separate ways; if he could take them off while maintaining a link with them, though, he certainly would.
After all, what was he supposed to say if he was caught? "I just wanted to do some clog duty by going through the rubbish chute that has the most direct way to get to the sea"? Skarl, being a brilliant man, would easily see what he had been trying to do and the poor lovesick knight would get a lot more than just a swimming lesson. Tch…he could even feel the sting of potential whip lashes right now as he imagined them, even though he never felt anything more than a spank as punishment in his life. The feeling was estimated by the amount of injuries he had incurred from the numerous fights with bandits, eerie plants, Ixi Raiders, Werelupes, minions, lava…
They weren't as bad as they could have been, though. His armor protected him, sure, but no amount of armor would have defended him from the dark clouds that had gathered before. Instead, it was the amulet that was given to him by that old man he helped out. Hmm…somehow, the old guy had looked familiar…anyway, he obeyed that man's advice even after it was all over, putting it on religiously every morning and never taking it off until night. Even now, he felt the comfort of the old charm resting between his silver armor and his shirt, and it was trying to whisper to him that he will be alright as long as he worked quickly and ignored the drumming sound in his heart.
It pounded harder than ever before. Pounded not really out of fear, but out of purpose. Yes…he felt that drive, saw that goal in sight-rescue Roberta. And get past the "it" that prevented her from returning safely. What "it" was that he was thinking of was certainly a mystery…the only thing he knew for certain was that it had to be very powerful dark magic, and he would need to get her own amulet to her-which she left behind with him-in order to protect her until they could find a solution to the problem. Perhaps it was caused by another faerie? Hopefully it wouldn't be a rerun of the Darkest Faerie chronicles. That was just a pain in the neck, now that he looked back. Except for her…Roberta and he wouldn't have met if it weren't for that blasted hag. He smiled, thinking of how odd it was that he would be thankful to her even though she tried to destroy two kingdoms at the same time.
Anyway, with the danger of being discovered out of the question, he proceeded to tiptoe toward the lid of the chute. Paws curled around the rusted bars that hinted of sulfur and he pulled as hard as possible. Unfortunately, Tormund realized that no matter how many opponents he killed, he still hadn't built himself up to Skeith levels. How Fauna had managed to pull the lid away was a complete mystery…maybe she used a spot of magic, something that he had absolutely no talent in except when he wanted his supernova motes to turn into a spinning purple circular saw of absolute horror and apocalyptic doom. Oh man…if only…
"ACK!"
The Lupe flew backward, his tail trailing like a comet's tail as he landed on his back and slid all the way to the open doorway. As he finally stopped, he expected to feel a huge lump of weight on his chest and arms, but in fact it seemed to measure only ten pounds at most, the weight of a plump cat. So it turned out that it was only stuck in the hole-and his clumsiness had, yet again, gotten himself into another mess. He heard a "what was that?" somewhere in the hallway, along with the scuttling of feet that was way too close…how did he completely miss that?
Oh wait. He didn't; that guard had been slumped against the wall, asleep. The original plan was to sneak away from here, noiselessly walking past the guy and just jumping down the tunnel. Plan B would have to take place as the form of a-presumably young-Grarrl appeared in the doorway. The creature, resembling an ancient carnivore with the name starting with a T, was definitely not a good omen, and a fight was no way to start a sneaking-out. Still, Tor threw the chute lid off of his body, stood up, and gripped loosely on the hilt of his sword in several swift motions, glancing at him in the dark warily.
"Who's there, sneaking around? Better not be a little grunt for those two thieves, or else I'll kick your little ass especially hard…"
He heard that shivery note as metal scraped against metal, and he saw the silhouette of a large sword.
"Please, shush…I'm just doing a mission for his majesty, King Skarl…" Tor blurted out nervously, the grip tightening on King Altador's trusty blade. He could almost see that cynical grin, but it wasn't totally unexpected that the soldier, young and foolhardy, would not believe him if it meant a promotion. Besides, the wolfy boy thought, he wasn't supposed to be trying to get into the sewer systems like a cockroach.
"Feh, you're a filthy liar, and a very bad one at that."
Okay, he wouldn't really deny that.
"Prepare to see your own heart beat in front of you, traitor of the throne!"
Practice against countless enemies had trained Tor to draw his sword and shield from his back to actually being useable in less than a second. It was very valuable as well, because the shield had just blocked an attack that Tor felt would have crushed even his Altadorian armor and almost knocked him off of his feet right off the bat. Parrying the blow effortlessly afterward, hearing the sheepish clang of the other sword as it whacked clumsily against a wall, his golden weapon slashed through the night to the estimated weak spots on his opponent's armor and he heard the cries of pain erupting from the toothy jaw. Taking the opportunity, the moment of weakness was exploited by a slamming of the flat side of his blade several times on the Grarrl's head and then ramming the butt of the sword and the rest of his body into the gut. Finally, he saw the thing collapse onto the floor and squeaks erupted from all around them…
Tor's breathing slowed a little bit.
That was very stressful.
He hadn't meant to hurt anyone at all. More would definitely be coming soon; he had to get out of here before he was forced to fight all of the infantry in the kingdom. Running on anything, his sword and shield were returned to their places on his back and they took up a lot less room while he jumped down into the tube and disappeared into its darkness. And this would also be the obvious reason why the storeroom always became infested with a myriad of creatures looking for a goldmine of food. Shouts above him, whooshing around him, the smells becoming worse beneath him…
This was like dropping from heaven and landing in limbo shaken and stirred in a bottle of old armpit sweat, soaked in diarrhea, mixed with rotten seafood, eggs, and dead skunk with just a hint of vomit. Suddenly the support vanished from his back, and he knew he was free-falling in an environment that he could barely see. He knew that he had just made a spectacular splash in an environment that he could only smell, and feel, and he hadn't the sense to open his mouth and gasp for air once he was assuredly on land so that meant he could…taste it…
Tor spit out every single time he knew he could and remembered to breathe through his nose while he swam energetically through who knows what, taking the path that he remembered was the way he floated as he never actually ended up in the moat like Fauna had said he would. Rather, he had yet again free-fell from a big pipe that jutted out into the sea from a little cliff where you could still see Cogham's famous steppes after a long wait. But this time, he wouldn't wait. He would get to Market Town, take a ship to the Lost Desert, and be on his merry little way.
Grayson really got to him…he only just thought of what would happen when he came back…but it was too late for that now. He needed to cling onto this drab little block of wood to stop himself from getting tired, and swat away the tentacles and Slorgs that had taken an unnatural interest in him.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Roberta opened her eyes in a flash.
What she saw was clear blue skies, puffy clouds, sunlight attempting to feed the planet and burn her retinas. It was warm, comforting, and she was resting on grass that was greener than she ever saw it. And that voice…it was so familiar…
"Tor?"
There he was. His yellow wolfy head appeared above hers, hovering only a few inches from her nose and smiling even brighter than the utopian light. Much too close. She tried to get up carefully so their faces wouldn't collide, but the unusual intimacy didn't stop…he was still leaning near her, and he still kept himself very close to her…it made her cheeks warm and her insides rather tingly. The Acara cleared her throat and looked away from him, but not before noticing that he wasn't wearing his Altadorian armor, but a clean cotton shirt and jeans.
"What do you mean, I was just dreaming?" She asked cautiously. From the way things looked, with the myriad of pretty flowers and the too-perfect countryside scenery, she would have figured that she had died. She drowned in that disgusting liquid, for Pete's sake. But he just laughed at her and nuzzled her shoulder.
"You fell asleep, silly goose. We were watching the clouds and you just dozed off unexpectedly. I thought it was cute, personally…"
This really didn't sound like the Tor she knew; she looked at him skeptically and her mind muttered warily. Sure, she had always wished for him to call her "silly goose" or some other adorable pet-name, but so quickly? He may have hugged her back, cuddled her that morning when she had to leave, but he didn't like her this much as far as she knew. It didn't help that he was very against saying "cute" or other related words and hated it when she teased him and started pinching his cheek. And what was that? Watching the clouds? She could barely believe her butterfly ears, now earring-less and…her outfit had changed back to her noble press. Her wand was back, tied by her side, the old Sorcerer's wand that she bought a very long time ago in Faerieland.
"…but anyway, there's no need to be frightened my little buttercup-"
Roberta's hand gripped her wand tightly, and she pointed it dangerously, causing him to back away in a startled manner, "Who the HELL are you?"
"Oy! Point that thing somewhere else!" He shouted, this time sounding genuinely frightened, and he batted it away with his paw before whimpering, "Geez, Roberta…did that nightmare really scare you that much? It's me, Tor. You know…the person who loves you more than ice cream…"
She flinched as he brought himself closer again, but soon felt the tickling sensation on her side when his paw touched her and she involuntarily giggled.
"The person who loves you more than the biggest bowl of fried juppie stew…"
He was practically all around her now, tickling and nuzzling her and she couldn't stop laughing. The grip on her weapon was very much loosened. All around her was that familiar smell of chives, peachpas, and clover flowers…
"The person who loves you more than the bigger than biggest bowl of fried juppie stew and the hugest bowl of ice cream that spans the universe…"
Her lips touched his, warm and fuzzy, soft and loving…she realized she was laying on the grass again, one side hot, one side cool and becoming warmer with each gentle stroke…her hand let go of her wand completely and she wrapped her arms around him…
The smell of the sea wafted into Tormund Ellis' nose. What acted as the smelling salt was the rank of seaweed and rotted planks.
What happened to him?
Did he die, and was he being sent to hell upon a great black ship?
But no; his head hurt too much to be dead, he thought, as his eyes struggled to stay open. The people who had given him a warm welcome upon the ship had only struck him hard enough to knock him out.
They were the only things that could move, because the rest of him was tied up to a mast in thick, ticklish ropes that tried to sting him through the thin shirt he wore. His armor was stripped from him, as was his sword and shield. The small sack that he carried his restorative items and other things in lay a few feet from his hanging toes; the Lupe struggled against his bonds to no avail and he quit after a few seconds, especially when he heard the cackling of his captors and the glowing red eyes that surrounded him, their bodies outlined in the clear light of the full moon. Long ivory fangs stuck out against their thick blackberry fur, some with gray splotches and others with russet, although the youngest ones were sporting an all-red coat with black at the tips of their ears.
Just his luck-the ship that he thought would save him was chock full of Werelupe pirates.
He recalled what happened to lead up to this with displeasure. If only he hadn't allowed his eyes to take a "quick rest" while he still had land in sight…when he awoke next, at around midday, there was nothing but water surrounding him. All four directions, the eight sub-directions, the…well, at the moment he really felt bogged down; math wouldn't be his thing for another couple of hours. The point was, he had been desperate, hungry, and lost when he saw the ship coming up behind him, coming for him. But as soon as he climbed up the slimy ladder to the deck of the ship, rainbow spots appeared in his vision (peculiarly at the same time as an ugly crack sound and the pain equivalent to being struck with lightning occurred) that faded quickly-mercifully, almost-into black.
The black was gone, he wasn't dead. But he knew that he was going to be dead real fucking soon, unless some super miracle occurred at this very moment. Tor rarely curses. He also rarely screams out a string of swear words without blinking once in embarrassment as he was doing now. His efforts were rewarded with the roaring laughter of the Werelupes, and then one of them stuffed a soapy, grimy, moldy sponge into his mouth while telling him to "wash out his mouth" which earned even more laughter from the bunch of shaggy barbarians. The laughingstock of a knight almost hurled it out, but then someone viciously ripped it out while simultaneously knocking over the culprit with a heavy blow of a large paw armed with six-inch claws, by the appearance of it. The entire crew that witnessed the spectacle of their captive awakening suddenly fell silent, leaving only the wind and a cruel laughing to stop the silence from stopping the rotation of the globe. When he was done spitting out feverishly, Tor didn't have to question who the Werelupe standing in front of him was, grinning maniacally.
He couldn't think of what could be worse, really-seeing the captain of a Meridell ship, or the captain of this rogue pirate ship. This Werelupe was a very intimidating figure, far more intimidating than that silly king back home. He wore a luxurious black jacket trimmed with gold thread, and black onyx buttons lined down the front closed the garment up to the collar so that the merest hint of the white shirt underneath could be seen, slimming down what could have otherwise been a figure that was half as wide as he was tall. There was that stereotypical tri-pointed hat, matching the color scheme of his jacket and sitting atop what was greasy wavy hair streaked a couple of times with silver highlights. And he at least bothered to wear respectable pants; these appeared to be quite new, clean, of a sturdy material however, and navy blue. Only by the light of the moon was Tor able to distinguish his body from what was the sky, and the details from their straight background, except for the cruel fangs which were just unmistakable, the creamy silver-white that tipped the captain's slowly swishing tail, and the muzzle with the predominant gray coloration.
That muzzle drew in way too close to Tor to be safe, his hot breath drew circles around the young one's face and gently caressed his chin. If he wasn't so completely tied up from head to foot, he would have sworn that the man would have ripped off the vulnerable captive's pants, casually removed his own, and raped him on the spot. But instead, the mouth spoke to him and released an alcoholic odor to add to the whiff of the unclean wooden vessel, and it sent chills toward any part that wasn't too numb to feel it.
"Don't abuse him so soon, men…he is a…guest."
The way he drawled it out suddenly made the knight feel very sick. This was further stressed by the way one of those half-foot claws met his cheek bone and he was forced to stare into the pomegranate blood eyes, then tilted to the side to reveal his vulnerable neck, and he couldn't do anything but comply because it would be quite painful if he refused. After what seemed to be forever, the claw finally freed him and he looked down at the floor and his numb toes, feeling absolutely unclean. The captain spoke again, though he moved to the side and he was still far too close to be comfortable.
"I suppose I should introduce myself, however, to this stranger that had the misfortune of being swept out to sea and ending up on our nautical doorstep…I am captain Cytan, in command of the ship known as the Avarus. Now…" The inspection resumed while the name sounded familiar…these were a relatively new band of pirates, weren't they? But they were known for being quite notoriously vicious and were gaining a true reputation on the seas; Tor felt naked around Cytan, and wished fervently that it would cease and he could just get off this ship and resume what he wanted to do. What he should be doing. If Roberta were here-although he didn't wish her to suffer a fate like this-he wouldn't feel so alone and so afraid, "…you seem to be a moderately strong lad. And so young, for a knight. How about this-I'll make you a deal that's as irresistible as the finest roast pork and the sweetest cakes and pies that I could offer…"
No, he didn't want to drool, but he swallowed it and that seemed to be what the black Werelupe was waiting for. He grinned that terrible toothy grin, showing off those large ivory fangs of which he would probably not be as attractive without, "Join my crew, young knight. You will be made a right-hand man, and after your transformation I will purchase the finest armor and weapons that money and murder can buy. In return for lending me your services, besides the support of my wealth, I can do you one more favor, within reasonable limits."
Those Werelupes surrounding them stared, glared in awe and some growled in pure jealousy. There were no claws preventing him from speaking his mind, however. Whatever else gave him the bravery to do the following, he will never know, but the young yellow Lupe glared back at those maddening red eyes and he uttered coolly, "You'll have to force me."
Some of the Werelupes gasped, one chuckled and was followed by his best friend, but the captain raised his huge paw and all was quiet again, "Fine, if you so insist…"
One slash of his great paw caused the young wolf to close his eyes, but instead of feeling the fiery burn of newly exposed flesh the ropes fell around him and Tormund toppled to the ground, dumb and very stiff. His joints creaked as he struggled to stand up. The boy felt painful pricks, thousands of them, in his arms and legs as blood rushed to nurture his extremities; he could hear the excited barks of the crew around him and eventually noticed that they hadn't taken his amulet of protection from him but only because it wasn't making a mark in his chest anymore. Something was kicked harshly into his face; he realized it was his armor being handed back to him as well as his sword, and someone tossed his item bag to land squarely on his head right where the last person had managed to clonk him. Rubbing the spot after falling down again and yelling out a yelp, Tor noticed that the spot was tangled in dried blood. He must have looked like a bloody, craptastic mess, fitting on the armor while he saw the captain being handed a long, thin sword-some weird black rapier, thicker than normal, actually-and picking up the two trusted weapons from Altador. They felt so heavy…had some wizard on this boat enchanted them to feel three times more massive than they actually were?
Before he knew it, that rapier the man was holding thrust toward his chest. He had no time to really think about how the captain was a tower of a beast, or how the blade pierced his armor like cheese, or that the blade had been directed at his right half and fortunately had only punctured until it was just beneath the skin. He knew that he hadn't raised his shield in time and backing away had prevented his lung from being punctured on the spot. But this time he was ready for the next hit, that slashed like lightning-Lupe ears heard a horrid sound of metal on metal, metal clawing through metal-his shield had a great gash too similar to a flesh wound, but it was supposed to withstand any and all attacks-when he swung he missed by a hair, but that hair was enough to allow Cytan to cut his ankle and Tor fell over like a newborn lamb-
"Now are we done yet? I'm getting a little bored of this nonsense…"
A moment of silence passed between them amid the chorus of "FINISH HIM" and "SLIT HIS SORRY LITTLE THROAT". Again, Cytan told him that he only needed to give up in order to have his life spared, and he would be promptly forgiven…yet Tor felt that he shouldn't…and he didn't know if he was being selfish or not…
You aren't doing any good for her if you're dead, Tor, he thought to himself. It was time to let go of his silly pride and-
Just trust me…
The Lupe's eyes widened considerably. Voices? He shook his head vigorously to clear his mind, but he still heard faint echoes of that divine female voice.
"No, then?"
Tor just realized that his shaking must have been misinterpreted. It was too late to make any decisions. Dumbly his topaz eyes watched as the Werelupe lunged, not even bothering to use his blade, but just mouth wide open and teeth bared. A mass of wild fur was on top of him. As much as he would have loved to scream, he couldn't when those fangs crunched down on his neck, barely missing his spinal cord, and his last act of desperation was to plunge King Altador's sword into the captain's vulnerable gut. For a moment, euphoria overtook his body…
And then he was in pain. Massive pain.
…maybe he was dying excruciatingly slowly…
"…wonderful…" He whispered, then abruptly noticing that he shouldn't have been able to. Cytan had chewed his windpipe out-a scream emerged from him, while his ribs cracked, and he looked at himself and saw that his chest was becoming a little broader than before, and then more bones cracked, and he noticed that he was becoming a little taller than before, and his paws had become bigger, and sharp claws were birthed from the soft fur transforming from yellow to dark gray. He winced while the agony began to ebb away and the only thing that actually hurt was his mouth. But Tor knew what was happening, with the light of the full moon in plain sight, and the emergence of two large fangs from his upper lip. His armor snapped due to his new body, though it refused to let him go completely, but that didn't matter, because his mind was going to go next and he wanted to make sure that these barbarians would taste real fear. Sliding the golden sword from the dead body of the one who infected him, and grabbing the black rapier that slashed through his shield, the newly transformed Werelupe slashed against the horde of the crew who were enraged by the death of their leader. Tor was unknowing of the glowing amulet bouncing between the ruined armor and his shirt. He was unknowing that his eyes were only a dark orange, unknowing that the wind was picking up, rain seemed to come out of nowhere, and that a storm was kicking up abnormally rapidly.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Knock, knock, knock.
"Ack, another one. Wonderful. And we don't have much time too…hope it isn't Edna…"
He heard the voice from far away it seemed. They were almost a little blurry like his vision, but they were becoming sharper, and it was a slightly hissy, drawling (to some degree) male voice, quickly accompanied by an old female voice that sounded oddly similar to Sophie the Swamp Witch's…carefully he lifted his head, thankful that the thumping inside his skull wasn't becoming worse every time he rose an inch, and then he sat up. His ears twitched and he rubbed his eyes gingerly.
And then he noticed the dark gray paw that was rubbing it, a little bigger than the paw he had been born with.
"So…it wasn't…it really happened?" Tormund said to himself, his voice rough and his throat very sore from probably yelling and shrieking all night, followed by salt water forcing itself in, but to his relief his voice had otherwise stayed the way it was. The ship…it had capsized; the memory should be very vivid in his mind but it wasn't, because he only remembered the blood and how he killed so many that night with those two swords. Sure, he was used to killing many things, from monsters to evil faeries, but somehow he felt so much shame in his heart, it made him feel heavier and he wondered if it was the black rapier that caused it.
Tor stood delicately, feeling an ache in his ankle, and limped across the small, dusty room, from the cot that was situated on one side to the sink, toilet, and mirror on the other. The armor was removed, yet again, so there was only the pants and the off-white muslin shirt that had a puncture mark in it, but the wound itself was completely healed with only a shrunken patch of black fur and a pain as if the wound was still new that would suggest anything happened. Oddly enough, his body was only a tad more muscular than before, but it didn't have the distinct shoulders or whatnot of other Werelupes. In fact, he could have probably be passed off as a regular Lupe who worked out a bit more and had longer hair than most-his hair on his head had come out more and he had a sort-of mane now-if it weren't for the tell-tale fangs of his new fellow specimens. The eyes did it too. Though they were orange rather than red, their pupils resembled one from a Meowclops. His black eyebrows were shaggier than before, his light gray muzzle now had that color grow somewhat farther down his neck and the sort-of mane, his ears were larger and tipped with black, and the tip of his tail matched his jaw color.
It was like he had suddenly grown a hump back, lost a few limbs, and grew a couple of slugs in their place. Everything felt out of place; no matter how long he stared his brain just could not accept this image, and it was horrifying watching that stranger staring back at him with just as much confusion, sorrow, and criticism. Touching his neck softly, he located where the captain's jaws had clenched him-like his other wound, the fur had become a little shorter here but it would grow out eventually-and he thought of how it still hurt as if it were still fresh as he hastily took his paw away from the sensitive spots. How he should have died from that encounter. How he would have secretly preferred that to this, in the back of his mind. And he was also thinking that the shame might have been caused from murdering his own kind, because he was one of them now…
Suddenly he heard a crash, knocking him out of his self-centered daze. There was some yelling, giggling…what in the world?
"There's a reason why witch rhymes with biiiitch! Ahahaha!"
"IT'S NOT FUNNY!"
Where was he?
The Werelupe looked at the window. Daylight, covered by heavy clouds. Shouldn't he have transformed back into his regular self? He was a little confused; maybe it was the lack of actual sunlight. Now that he had seen himself he could look at everything else in this relatively messy room with the dark green paint peeling off the walls, and he noticed that everything he had carried with him minus his clothes was missing. No…he couldn't have lost them in that storm. When he felt the ship about to sink he grabbed his stuff, hoisted his bag around his neck and under his shirt, and put his sword and shield on the holdings on his back. Which meant that whoever dragged him to this house had stolen his belongings or left them downstairs. Yes, there was a downstairs; his door was open and he could see it, along with two other doors. Judging by the slanted ceiling this was just a spare room in the attic, and he might as well come down in order to find out who it was that offered him shelter and probably stole his stuff. He didn't care about the perilous creaking the stairs made as he walked down with a weightier step than he was used to.
He was surprised, though, when he saw that this place was in fact an armory, and when the two people he heard from upstairs looked at him as if they could see through him and determine what were the contents inside his stomach. One of them was a Scorchio, the male voice, with pale yellow eyes only bested by the scaly skin of flour white, mostly covered in a black cloak with red gossamer sewn on the underside, and underneath that wearing only pants to keep himself decent. His smile was, for lack of a better description, disturbing rather than the flimsy attempt at being warm. The other was an elderly green Zafara, who's long ears perked up from underneath her black witch's hat, and she waddled over to him with awkward long feet underneath a simple black dress with dark green sleeves, stepping carefully over a broken tea set. Her large eyes would have been cute if they didn't have that sinister glint of someone who had been driven crazy at least ten times, and they were scanning him as soon as she stopped two inches in front of the bewildered Werelupe.
"Ah…so this is him, is it Cremare?"
The Scorchio stopped with his show of pleasantry and was visibly annoyed, "Edna, dearest, there's no need to shout my name out to everyone you meet. And yes, he is the one I have told you about. The champion that you viewed in your scrying."
Still not saying anything, Tor's brows furrowed in spite of himself. Champion? Perhaps they had been watching him tackle six opponents in the arena in Altador a couple of months ago. He also wondered why the Scorchio, named Cremare, didn't like for that witch (Edna, was it?) to say his name. As if reading his mind, however, the Scorchio grinned to his guest and explained, "Since you are receiving my personal handiwork, I might as well tell you that I've taken a vow of secrecy so others don't try to find out our trademark item…" The Scorchio, with a flip of his high-collared cape, then opened a door close to where a stove in the corner, slightly behind a long counter and beside several shelves glittering with various weapons reeking of Halloween themes, was heating this particular room and disappeared into what could be guessed to be a forge. The door closed stridently, leaving Tor alone with the creepy little Zafara witch. On the other hand, she seemed pleased.
"I can answer your questions, Tormund, if you decide to trust me…"
He was shocked, "How did…"
Her smile was secretive and crazily twisted, "Oh, I have my ways, being an old witch and all…the Brain Tree is also a remarkable spirit, yes, and the only one who I can drink root beer with because the Esophagor is too much of a glutton to really enjoy food…" Going off on a couple of tangents, she continued to say to generally no one about how many tales that tree told her when she was a young witch, starting out in the world, and he gave her a few tips on how to mix devious potions in exchange for some bits of secret knowledge from that blacksmith Scorchio's father which he had given to her via a babbling potion she brewed, all the while kicking around the broken pieces of china that once formed four cups and a teapot like soccer balls and dust bunnies. Then she fell silent and stared at him expectantly; he winced a little underneath the gaze, conscious of his Werelupe appearance, and then it occurred to him that he was actually acting moderately sane, not howling at any given minute or trying to seek out others to join a pack. But again, the mind reading happened, and she said, "Oh by the way, you're not truly a Werelupe."
He blinked at her with his new orange eyes, "Well, how is that possible, then?" and he heard the speech impediments known as fangs stopping him from sounding completely normal. Tor had to stop himself from wincing embarrassingly.
As an answer, she threw something at him. Lightning fast reflexes he didn't know he had-well, at least only for his sword and shield-caught the item and he knew just by its cool, reassuring feel that it was his amulet. Tor put it back over his head and used his palm to look at it plainly, "You mean my amulet…?"
"Yes. Cremare showed it to me-more to keep me busy than anything-and I sensed its magical powers from the first moment I laid eyes on it. I wouldn't be surprised if it had saved you from going insane, although by the way you look now, it does concern me…"
"What?" Instinctively the gray ears folded backwards, and she smiled widely.
"Tor, you won't be able to change back ever again."
The knight blinked slowly. It wasn't really out of that pronouncement, because he had almost expected it, but from the way she said it, in such a sing-song happy voice, and with that stupid grin.
"And what I mean is that you can't even temporarily change back into your regular self. Oh so sorry for you…"
"Do you think I have a chance of being cured, at least?" He asked quietly, finding it harder to ignore the feeling of annoyance and anger at the casual way she was presenting his on-the-fence condition. She answered just as quietly, still smiling wider than the ocean.
"Who knows. Never seen anyone like you, but I can't be bothered to scry for you. And I honestly think you have as much of a chance of being a normal Lupe as a full Werelupe, but don't let my opinion bog you down."
He growled, feeling the hair on his mane stand up. Of course he was letting it bog him down-he was a fucking monster, an outcast, a black fleabag with fangs that he would absolutely love to pull out if he had some procaine just to be able to say his "s" and his "th" intelligently-he knew that his family would reject him, he wouldn't even be able to secure a job as a sewer scrubber for King Skarl, and he would still be an outcast even among his own kind, because at one point he had robbed from their graveyard, beat up their leader, and stolen from the pack-shame wasn't helping, because he had gone this far and it would be bullshit to stop just because his appearance changed, but in this form he could be unstable; what if he hurt someone by accident-he needed to stop fussing and deal with these problems later, perhaps in the presence of some powerful sorceress like Jerdana, or maybe even Illusen if she would tolerate his company, but she had vanished, they said, and maybe it was the same as what had taken Roberta-although, he thought with a wry smile, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon without his weapons or his armor, even with these new claws. It was just then that Cremare emerged from the forge, ash marks on his white scales which he brushed off his bare chest, unaware of his good timing, and then the Scorchio spoke.
"Well, I'm finally done, no thanks to Edna. Sorry for the wait, but at least magic and my own fiery breath helps…" He went back in, and then arrived again, holding a mass of metal in his arms. Gently he placed it on the floor, separating the contents, and they revealed themselves to be a suit of armor and an identical pair of swords rather than a single sword and a shield. But how strange it looked! The metal was black, with a glassy and prismatic sheen, although the armor was a little more silvery than the other two items. The swords were longer than the sword King Altador gave him, thinner and a little more graceful looking like that rapier, and closer to the tip the edges were serrated and mirrored on either side. In carvings covered with gold leaf were three symbols that Tor thought looked like the writing from Shenkuu, but at the same time they weren't…he carefully picked up one of the swords, its hilt even blacker than the blade if it were possible, and decorated by three gold rings on the handle. For some reason, he felt oddly nervous touching these three black objects, as if they were cursed, like the themed weapons up for sale on the shelves. Still, he needed this, and when he slipped on the chain mail and the armor it not only fit him but felt even lighter and more flexible than the one he got in Altador. Some of the plates were lined with gold, and his shoulders had a couple of spikes which he recognized as the Drackonack teeth he kept in his bag.
Leather gloves came with it, reinforced on the back of the hands, arms and on the elbow by the same metal, with one small spike on each of the elbow guards-again, Drackonack teeth-and fingerless so he could use his claws in a pinch. Having the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't just the teeth that came from his bag, he picked up the swords again, turned away from the pair, and swung gently. They glided through the air, with the feel of silk; they were so easy to handle. Cremare made it look a lot heavier than it actually was. When he turned around he saw the smug smile of the smith, that proceeded to open and say, "One sword says 'Hara', the other says 'Kaji'; the former is 'sun' and the latter is 'moon'. Hope you don't mind, my guest, but that gold in your sword looked nice on a black background and I didn't want to completely waste it…"
"So that's where it went," Tor said, looking at the sword he held in his hands, "And the black one that punctured my armor and made a gash in my shield, too?"
"That's right. The rapier was made out of the finest metals and…well, I'm not sure I should-"
"Oh, go on!" Edna elbowed him, "It's not like he's going to become a smith anytime soon, Cremare."
Cremare glared at her, "Oh, alright, silly woman…powdered Werelupe teeth. No need to check in the mirror of course," he noticed that Tor had opened his mouth and felt along his jaws to see if any of his teeth were missing, "you're not even a full Werelupe anyway, even though I wouldn't refuse a donation…but why waste all the teeth in that pretty little necklace of yours when I could just recycle?"
The necklace, the old one he used to get into the Werelupe burrows back when he and Roberta had to get Illusen's charm back. He didn't even know that he had it with him. And this stranger…he had twisted his beautiful golden sword into something that looked so unbelievably evil…
"Oh, and I know you'll mind, but I helped myself to your gold to pay for the expenses-"
"YOU'RE FUCKING DAMN RIGHT I'LL MIND!"
His paw slammed the countertop that he happened to be near, the rush of anger and frustration fueling this reaction and the utterance of swear words from the awkward jaws. The Lupe got the results that he wanted-the shaking of the entire store, the chattering of the china pieces spilled on the floor, the startled looks from Cremare and that blasted witch, but what he hadn't expected was that his paw smashed through the wood of the countertop like it was made of matchsticks and only stopped because he had frightened himself and pulled his paw away hastily from the damage that he had done. Tor stood their in silence, oblivious to the throbbing of his paw with the large splinters jammed into the skin and the dark ash fur and muscle, looking at how he had smashed it halfway to the floor.
Tears began to form at the edges of his eyes; the sniffling started first before he could help himself. Cremare stepped over to him gingerly, kicking a small shard of china out of the way, and then he started plucking the splinters out like chicken feathers. When the splinters were taken out completely, the Scorchio swatted away and shook his head at Edna's jar of what seemed to be pickled snails in a yellowish solution, and he was vastly unaffected by her pout. Yet no words were said for the longest time; Edna was instead sent to fetch some bandages, and he was led back upstairs again to wash his paw and clean it with some questionable soap. After this, Tor and his heavily stinging paw was dragged back downstairs so they could wrap it tightly in bandages, but still no one spoke so their silent conversation was supplemented by the wind that had picked up and began to rattle the frail windows.
Finally, the male voice said again, "So should I give you back some more of your gold?"
"No…it's alright, I just…" The Werelupe stammered. Cremare snorted gently; Tor continued, "…I don't know what to think…"
"Well then, don't," said Edna matter-of-factly, "Just accept it, since you're going to be like this for a while."
"And maybe you'll even begin to appreciate this…not many neopets will be anywhere near as strong as you…and you'll probably need this newfound strength to save the world, because your enemies aren't going to be a bunch of pussies," the Scorchio finished.
He was being dead serious, wasn't he?
"Save the world, again?" Tor replied, intending for it to be a joke to try and feel more familiar with the two, but their gaze was singeing his already blackened fur, "…so I…really…are you familiar with the dark magic at work?"
"How can we not, living right next to it…" Cremare said, snarling at no one in particular. Edna became quite grave and that insane glint was dimmed for the moment.
"You're in the Haunted Woods," she said solemnly, "with the Lost Desert located southward. The dark magic…it is of a strange quality, although similar to one seen twice before…and it will spread and be upon us in less than two days…now, normally I would prefer to boil neopets rather than help them, but I think you'll find this to be of use…"
She took off her hat, and then searched around inside of it as if it were much larger than it was. Both smith and knight watched her continue to hunt for whatever it was, attempt to yank it out, and then finally pry it loose from whatever was holding the object in question. But what she did pull out was not some strange plant (like Wartroot), nor some noxious potion, and not even some bogus charms and spell-papers that some witches usually sold. Rather, it was something about the size of a clementine, a pale bluish crystal ball with foggy wisps swirling lethargically within its interior. She passed it on, into his leather-covered paws from her withered green ones, but even through the thick hide he could feel how soothing it was, not unlike his own amulet that he wore between his shirt and his chain mail. Waves of magic beat against his heart, and he felt like he didn't have a care in the world-
"Hey!"
Someone flicked his nose; Tor came back into reality and hastily stuffed the orb into his bag. Suddenly the witch snatched it from him, muttered something under her breath, and the bag seemed to drop ninety pounds in her hands. When he took it back, he inspected it, and saw that the inside of the bag was quite spacious but he could still grab the items easily. This must have been the charm she laid in her hat, he thought, smiling, "Thank you for all you've done. Sorry about the money thing; won't complain next time."
The Scorchio didn't say anything, he just turned his head away and swatted in the air before entering and disappearing into his forge again. Edna had the Werelupe-who realized the witch's advice had started to make him feel more cheerful-all to herself now, and she said her last words to him for the moment.
"The orb I gave you…it was a very powerful artifact that I just happened to come across one day when buying my shady ingredients…I found that I couldn't actually dissolve it in anything but it did work great as a stirrer, and then I had a premonition that it would be needed for greater purposes than the one I had for it. It should direct you to what you need to seek. Remember that I can't always be this nice, and good day to you."
And with that, the green-dressed witch exited the store, and he caught a glimpse of what awaited him when he would leave. It wasn't too dissimilar to the swamps of Werelupe Woods, with the bare, twisted trees and that hanging gloom that lingered around in a dense foot-tall fog. The only difference was the predominant color-theirs was green, this place had blue and purple. But no worry, he thought while surprised with himself for being so sure. And then he realized-when he touched the windy orb, it had established a connection with him, and now he knew which way would lead to the Lost Desert. Digging through his items to make sure that nothing else of importance was lost or taken, he withdrew his swords into the twin leather sheathes that Cremare suddenly tossed out of the forge, arranging them around his body so the leather straps crossed over his chest like an "X".
"Uhm…bye then! Thanks!" Tormund attempted to say to Cremare, annoyed by the speech impediments known as fangs stuck to the front of his mouth. If he weren't concerned that he would be bleeding and in pain and vulnerable to tooth decay, he might have allowed their filing down as a "donation". Toothless or not, the Scorchio made no reply even though Tor could vividly imagine what his response would be as if he'd known the white dragon for years.
The knight, tarnished silver Werelupe, Tormund Ellis of Meriacres, exited the building of the store and ducked underneath the large wooden axes used for decoration, before observing that the forge Cremare went in was a small, round stone building with a chimney poking out of the roof and a single square hole for a window. Barely three yards away from that point, he heard the Scorchio cry out from the open window of the workshop, "EDNA! GIVE ME BACK THOSE WERELUPE TEETH!"

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He had gotten her right where he wanted…once he gained enough power he would move onto his next target, the one who had actually had the power to stop him…

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The fog was growing thicker, the settings more uncertain. The only thing that was for sure was that sense of direction, given to him by that mysterious magic orb that the Zafara, Edna, bequeathed to him. Around him he observed the fog swirling around him; at first it had gone slowly but as he traveled farther and farther the swirls became more restless, the wisps themselves not as smooth as before but panicked, edgy, and the faintest scent of blood became ever stronger with each step he took. He wasn't sure if it was because of his sense of smell that had become stronger through his transformation, but he wished that he had gotten a stomach of steel from that shift, because he was starting to feel a little sickened by the stink.
And then felt something wet and a little sticky beneath his feet. Disgusted to the highest extent, he jumped back and tried to rub it off on the sickly grass of the forest, until he felt it coming up to meet his toes again and the winds around him swirled harder than ever. It was only then that he knew that it was part of the dark magic. Was he close? But no, the trees hadn't thinned-if anything, they were thicker than ever, and darker because of a purple fog that rolled over and began to merge despite the unwillingness of the original mists he had been walking through. The ones around him and his white orb in the newly-spaced bag flat-out refused to become one with the dark clouds that looked so eerily familiar. But it couldn't be…she was frozen in time, the darkest faerie, she couldn't be the one conjuring the evil clouds and…whatever in the world this blackish muck was. He picked up a thick splash several yards away and drew his swords anxiously, bravely invading this sticky swamp to continue forward while it moved in the opposite direction, inhaling blood and century old sewage, pickled cabbages and burning animal flesh, and feeling invisible eyes looking through his new black armor.
Before he knew it, the liquid was starting to resemble the shore of an ocean. Waves growing larger and larger splashed furiously and clawed its way farther through the land. He heard a hissing noise, and realized it was coming from the trees. Though they already looked dead enough, this liquid and the fog had a corrosive effect on the plants, causing those leafless trees to wilt and their bark to become heavily scarred, revealing the reddened heartwood through the gashes and swirls of smoke, the burnt life that had barely been there. When Tor stopped paying attention to what was happening to those dead trees, however, he finally saw what was actually causing these waves in the rank liquid. At first it was an indistinct lump of black sludge, staring fixatedly at him with ten eyes burning like live coals as it moved with surprising speed through the almost knee-high swamp. But with every step it took, it started to take more form, becoming longer and more snakelike, then distinctly segmented into about fourteen parts, three on one end that supported what became the head on a neck and the other side became a tail, the in-between parts each having two eyes each slide onto them. It started shaking off its original sludge coating and (while still retaining a sort of liquidness) revealing itself to possess eight sharp, spindly legs and the biggest mouth that he had ever seen on a creature, never mind its strangeness-a tube with the inside filled with row upon row of long, backward-facing teeth.
The first thing it did was hiss at him, spitting flecks of blood on his face. He observed the blood change from dark red to black in a matter of seconds. The second thing the creature did was lunge straight at him; instantly Tor jumped back and sideways at the last second, watching it crash into the ground head first. Two of its eyes closed, while the eight others evenly distributed along the other body segments glared at him; all of it continued to move toward him, wiggling those many legs and gaining speed. Finally somewhat annoyed with running away and not gaining anything out of it, the Werelupe leaped up with all his strength just as the many-eyed worm-centipede reached forward with that tube mouth, and he swung downward with his arm, borrowing some strength from gravity's insistence on him returning back to earth. The black blade smoothly cut through between the head and the first segment behind it, tasting for the first time the blood of an enemy, but he didn't get to quite enjoy that little victory, because as the head melted away he was shocked by there being another head underneath it. Something furry, catlike…and then that dissolved into a marble-white skull which crushed itself into powder…he almost felt like he was going to-
Suddenly feeling an attack coming for him, he quickly raised his left arm but realized too late that his thin sword was a lousy shield, and a sharp pain ripped right through his afflicted limb. The head had apparently grown back, although not in the end which he had attacked, but rather at the end which was supposed to be the exit way of the waste products. Meanwhile, where it should have spilled bodily fluids was instead plugged by a waxy substance, although it was bulging as if waiting to release something. Stupid Cremare…why in the world did he decide to not make him a shield he didn't know, but he knew that these weapons were different from the ones he had before and therefore he needed to break out of his old habits and develop some new ones. Tor roared along with the growling beast, struggling to free his other arm from the worm centipede who was now wrapping that disgusting body around him-he finally broke free, and hastily cut the head off to cease the biting, but it still chewed on his arm for a few moments longer-Tor tried to cut off other sections other than the immediate part between the head and neck; he failed miserably but suddenly noticed that he had accidentally slashed one of the eyes and the creature was failing to respond with anything other than a wail of despair.
'The eyes are the weak point...of course...' Tor mused. Repeatedly he attacked that eye further and it finally burst with an ugly squelching noise; the wolf spit out the fluid that squirted into his face and decided it tasted a lot worse than sewer water, which he didn't think was even possible.
The worm writhed in pain and allowed him to escape its coils completely so he wouldn't be caught immediately after the head grew back. When it did, though, he felt more ready, and more willing to experiment with his twin swords. More offense, was what it basically was…he could do that. Especially since he needed to live.
The eye he punctured didn't grow back, but that didn't stop the others from fixating themselves on him and allowing the creature and he to make a slow, wary dance around each other. Suddenly the worm struck, lighting fast on all its legs-he ducked, bringing his swords together like scissors to chop the head off before it got a hold of his unprotected head. Tor then honed in on a couple more of the eyes and furiously cut and stabbed until they also burst like grapes as the head grew on the other side yet again, flipping backward to try and reach for his throat. This was more acrobatics than he had to do in his entire life, he thought as he yet again barely avoided another toothy assault and swatted away some legs that attempted to puncture his feet with their sharp points. The creature could thrust its mouth out inside-out much like a starfish could regurgitate its own stomach to feed on a clam, apparently, and it was trying to hook him into that rotten-looking flesh. But no, he wouldn't allow that.
But just as he cut off the head again to stall for time and attack another eye, it suddenly seemed to become smarter, strangely enough, and abruptly it disappeared-it ducked underneath the churning water, flattening out its entire body as much as it could to maximize its vanishing act. It was too late that he noticed the direct boiling of the blackish water underneath him, and his feet left the ground, left the liquid, and he was launched in the air, and Tor yelled out when he saw the creature emerge like a whale leaping up to capture something in midair, its mouth outturned and its scream deafening…
Someone shot some sort of slow-down spell at him, he was sure of it, because he felt like he was suspended and dropping like a rock all at once.
"AAAAAAAAAGH!"
When he yelled out of pure instinct, it rippled and echoed and was stretched and pulled through this sticky and slow universe of his mind. Colors were blurry and blended, disbelief and the monster's jaws were so far away and justthisclose. His memories came back to him, starting from those that he didn't even know he had, the ones when he was just a baby and eating through his first red juppie with a makeshift candle on it. It progressed through him getting bucked off of a Whinnie, falling off of the fence, delivering tools clumsily to his father as he fixed the pump (attempt number sixty-five), later anticipating the birth of his younger sister and starting up with the "big" chores around the farm. Time pressed on with his fated mission to deliver the package to Meridell and being inducted in the sacred handful of the squires, slicing apart monsters that antagonized him and teaching wild Ixi raiders a lesson, becoming a knight, it moved up a couple of notches when the violet fog rolled in and made neopets everywhere lose their minds to the nightmares. Her inky hair whipped briskly as she turned to fire a magical shot at a flying monster…amethyst eyes gave him a look that plainly said, "Sorry, but you're an idiot" when he missed so badly that he nearly nicked her in the shoulder…actually, he did cut her faerie robes, so no wonder that she was annoyed…a small pink paw bumped against his own larger yellow one while they walked together and it caused him to feel warm and strangely wonderful…pink lips in a gentle smile while she snuggled up to him that night in the castle…
Roberta…
"NO!"
Mind now smacked back to present time, he forcefully twisted his body in midair to face the monster and with his twin swords, bracing himself by crossing them in front of him like a pair of scissors. Apparently the blades were much sharper than he took them for, as they cleanly sliced through the outturned mouth and only stopped when encountered with the jaws, digging deeply into the slimy flesh, his hind paws finding a secure place to rest so he wouldn't fall in anyway. Tormund was promptly rewarded with a shrill scream for all his effort; the body of the giant centipede began to writhe roughly but he knew what he was going to do now, and opened up his makeshift "scissors" formation with strength he never knew he had. What resulted was an unearthly crack-its jaws were cleanly broken through. Feeling gravity beginning to take over for them both, Tor unstuck his weapons and jumped a clear distance away while his enemy dropped with a thick plop. For a fleeting moment he thought that maybe it was over, but noticing the legs twitching to get itself properly upright again he shook his head and grinned savagely.
A growl resounded in the back of his throat, something he wouldn't have been able to do had he been a normal Lupe, "I don't know what you are, but no matter what, you're not going to stop me from saving Roberta!"
He charged-

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-and slammed her against the gray clay-covered wall, with unearthly strength and horrors dancing in unfamiliar eyes. A jolt ran through her spine and her entire body went numb, though not numb enough to block out the pain ravaging through her. Fate wasn't kind to her either, not allowing her to black out from this nightmare, just letting her endure the giant bruises blacking up the skin underneath her azure fur and the sharp, fresh hurt of broken ribs ripping into her every time she took a breath. Her shoulders ached, his grip was so strong…please, just let go…let her drop onto the floor and rest from this torture…
There was so much hate in his eyes. His claws were digging into her bare shoulders and cutting off the circulation to her arms…
"Fucking bitch…FUCKING USELESS BITCH!"
One swift throw and to her right she tumbled like a leaden rag doll, crashing into the sharp edge of the table which fell over with her and cracked once again. No strength at all; she tried to turn her head and he kicked her with all the force he could muster, knocking hard-won air, blood, and saliva from her small and pathetic body. Over and over he continued to abuse her, his kicks pushing her living corpse into a corner and then pouncing on her in a golden blur of hurt and blood-soaked fur and so, so, so, so much yelling-
"WORTHLESS CUNT-"
-and she was screaming too and crying but pleading wouldn't help at all, and the more she screamed for mercy the harder he would punch and break and throw, but she couldn't stop herself because it just hurt so much and it was so dark and oh, oh, oh-
…he finally moved away from her, muttering drunken gibberish…it was…it was over…it was-
Something heavy and solid smashed into her cranium and her head once again was filled with buzzing and swirly colors with the vague sensation that something had shattered around her. Knives were stabbing her over and over again while she hiccupped and sobbed, half-dazed, but sober enough to know the pain and her naked, broken body curled against the corner. Small eyes peered out from across the room and she could no longer tell whether they were the children or monsters ready to reach out and grab her and the walls were reaching out to come after her and her bleeding, purple lips helped her to whisper her acknowledgement of betrayal…
"…why…Tor…"
Her eyes closed and she was finally granted entrance into the world of darkness-

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-didn't impede his senses in the least; he struck the finishing blow into the last eye with swords fully engulfed in the energy of fire motes, puncturing it with minimal effort thanks to the power lent by his small magical allies. Shaking, spouting blood, and barely able to vocalize its anguish, it finally toppled over in sound defeat and death, bubbling all over while it dissolved into liquid. The stench hardly bothered the Werelupe anymore, he merely called back his motes, sheathed his swords back in their proper places and waved the reddish fumes emitted by the rapidly decaying body away from his desensitized nose. The fact that the whole vanishing process also came with seeing various skeletons of various types of neopets that quickly crumbled away was intriguing, but he really didn't have a lot of time to lose. Tormund turned away from his defeated foe, called upon the wisdom of the strange sphere to guide him to the proper direction, and then moved onward.
For a long while the scenery did not change. The occasional monsters that cropped up were nowhere near as challenging as the big centipede he fought a while ago (to be perfectly truthful they looked like more bizarre versions of the wild monsters he was used to seeing, such as Slorgs and Crokabeks, and then some) so the little Roberta voice inside of him told him that he could use the time to think. Think he did, about those skeletons that he saw before inside. More skeletons appeared whenever he successfully slew an enemy…were those really real Neopets, or were they just a grotesque addition, a special effect? Lil' Roberta told him the latter was highly unlikely, but then if he got to thinking about the former, then…this could be a lot more serious than he thought. Real neopets…swallowed up by darkness…what if this was a lot more severe-"interactive", someone with a sick sense of humor might say-than the plague that affected Meridell and the lands surrounding it when the Darkest Faerie returned from the depths of the sea?
After being ambushed by a couple of random creatures that nearly bit his head off, he decided to do more walking and less zoning out.
One could only go so fast by walking. A few days passed, suitable sleeping spots getting into the habit of hiding from Tor, and he and his growling stomach began to wonder if maybe the orb was misleading and he was actually walking in circles. As the thought crossed his mind the "sense of direction" gave an extra-large "nudge" as if to sharply disagree with that, so he ate the supplies in his bag and moved on. The Werelupe really had no other options, so he was forced to keep going, through the still liquid and the curled up trees with the bloodied bark, hearing an occasional hiss from some living creature or the gases released from the slowly dissipating forest. A change greeted him at last, however-new types of life forms were beginning to grow over the old, from large "flowers" lined to the brim with sharp studs, meant for catching and keeping prey, to fibrous molds that stretched over the canopies like colossal spider webs. Were it not for the overall atmosphere of gloom and death, these new "plants" would have been a subject of great fascination, especially for brainy types like King Hagen and Roberta.
One more day passed. The warrior breathed a sigh of relief as the trees finally thinned out, and the sun was emerging every so often through the haze of black-fuchsia that covered the sky. Soon his feet felt a change in the texture of the land, from peat to sand, and the Werelupe looked over the bleak landscape that was once a majestic desert. Its sight made his heart heavy, to say the least.
Tormund had never seen a desert for himself before, but apparently one of his great grandparents had at some point, and his father recounted stories of the hot and dry climate, ever-shifting mountains of reddish-gold sand, and blazing clear blue skies. To see it now, the land turned gray and saturated with yet more of that awful dark liquid, shifting purplish mist floating over the surface, and the climate chilly and forbidding, was quite depressing. Ignoring that as best as possible, he saw two possible destinations ahead of him, the one on the right of the slowly-flowing river especially clouded in fog, the one on the left close to the river delta appearing quite empty yet calling to him due to his little magic orb. He winced slightly, gray ears folding back, "…not so sure about this…the other location looks more promising…"
His compass was being very insistent. For some reason he also felt like his amulet was trying to be convincing; Tor carefully pulled out the beat-up trinket from between his chest plates and shirt and to his surprise found it to be glowing brightly.
"Well…alright then…" the knight shrugged and slipped it back, heading toward the location on the left-and what he least expected was for his first foot to sink into the ground at an alarming rate. If he hadn't reacted sooner, he would have been caught in the quicksand. Growling at the misfortune, Tor toed around more carefully and moved on, pulling out his swords in case of any more unpleasant surprises. Indeed, one did come swooping by his ear and he caught it with his blade, tossing what turned out to be a mutant Scarabug in the quicksand area coolly. Hm, since when did he acquire that trait…?

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Empty, empty…not surprising, but still…
The sand was switching over to bricks. Smiling with relief, he walked more confidently and passed under the gate into Qasala. As he examined his surroundings, he took note of the droopy tents covered in fungus fibers and buildings broken through by cursed plant roots. Occasionally the brick ground rose above the water, punctured by thick thorns the size of his tail, and the fountain in the center of the square was completely taken over by black vines and powder-fine webs. When Tor came close, something blinked back, and what looked to be a crystalline Spyder with stained-glass-like legs leaped out at the intruder in his territory. The boy swatted in a panic, somehow hitting it dead on and slamming it backside-up on the ground, and then he immediately followed by stabbing the creature over and over until it ceased twitching and broke apart.
Tor never liked Spyders, and he probably never would…for good measure he attacked the diseased fountain, ignoring the heavy bleeding of the vines as he sliced through them and the screams of yet more Spyders caught unaware. Due to the plants weakening the structure of the fountain itself, one good but accidental strike caused the structure to topple like a children's toy, ruining a clutch of eggs that had been hidden within it, and simultaneously revealing an anomaly that he hadn't noticed before.
One of the tents was intact, in flawless condition, almost glowing against the rest of the abandoned city. Though it was surrounded by the liquid, and cursed vines and fungus threads had formed a makeshift wall around it, none of them could even touch the cloth it seemed. Toppling the fountain over had opened a path into the wall, though, and his wind orb started buzzing in his pack as if to say, "Let's go! This is the place!" Not that Tor was going to refuse to sate his curiosity anyway-it looked like a good place to rest.
He stepped onto the crumbled remains of the fountain-
The water seemed to burst around him as fifty or so monsters suddenly made their presence known. Tor growled fiercely, whipping into action while he sliced apart the opposition and sent them back where they belonged. One by one, they fell to his might, sooner or later, and he was a storm of offense as he attacked as hard as he could. The mob could not surround him for very long lest they had a death wish, which is what they all seemed to have while they zoomed toward him. Yet, as he killed them, more continued to pop up in increasing numbers, and they glared at him with the intensity of a thousand red stars. Suddenly his force wasn't so forceful anymore; more began to breach his defenses and ram themselves into him. Soon he had to summon his fire motes to aid him, and once again his blades were ablaze, but even that wasn't enough to extinguish the forces that were coming around him-he barely missed one over on his left-something unforgiving knocked into his skull and caused him to see stars for a second-the young Lupe backed off and looked at them all back, watching them multiply from the brackish ooze faster and faster, "What the hell? Where are they coming from-"
Suddenly his sight was blinded by a great flash of light. All around him he could hear the screams of the enemies as they were subsequently destroyed by the energy, but his eyes were shut tightly to prevent blindness so he never saw how they were reduced to vapor in mere seconds. The flash lighting up his eyelids dimmed down after a while, and he squeezed his eyes open; that same tent he had been curious about had its flaps opened by a mysterious force. Inside it emanated a velvety green glow, much friendlier than before, and while he observed it he noticed that it seemed to almost be welcoming him in. Taking a glance about his surroundings, Tor saw no signs of the enemy mob he had been fighting before. This energy had to be friendly…maybe there was someone inside who was going to offer all the answers he needed and to life itself.
"Hello…?" Tor called as he approached the tent. Peeking in yielded zero results, though-there was no one in sight. Nothing but empty shelves and a clean floor with a-hold on, the floor was clean. There was no gunk and the carpet was oh so nice in the center of the tent but something far more intriguing caught his eye, "Wow…"
After all, since when did a magic wand float around on its own, brightly shining like a mini-lighthouse?
What a remarkable weapon…something seemed oddly familiar about it, he thought, as he examined its cobalt-blue power source. The shape of the wand was more like a slightly modified axe than it was a traditional wand, however, obviously made of serious business in the event that an enemy got too close for comfort. It was as much a work of art as a weapon, too-in general, it was made of gold, dyed leather weaved together around the handle in an alternating pattern of red and blue stripes. As for the axe blade, it resembled the shape of a Scarabug's wings, gold arm support embedded with rubies and sapphires, and the blades of a rippling metal…Damascus-style steel for sure, with the pearly sheen of Drackonack teeth powder. Between those wings sat comfortably the gem that made the wand magical in the first place. Reaching out a curious paw, he grasped the soft handle delicately and marveled at how he felt a strange surge of happiness and peace, and it was so light too, lighter than a snowflake. All the tiredness that accumulated in his body over the last few days evaporated like alcohol…
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a piece of parchment; Tor held onto the wand and picked up the parchment from the carpet. The writing was loopy, if hastily done; he had a suspicious notion that this had been waiting for him…
To whom it may concern,
I am Samad, a friendly neighborhood weapon maker and local smith. The wand that you may have found is meant for a smallish client of mine, a young witch of the blue Acara variety with raven hair and wearing clothes native to our lands. Hopefully, if you are truly the person I have been expecting, you know who I am talking about. Anyway, I am aware that a catastrophe has happened, so if you are reading this now, do be so kind as to deliver the wand to her. She should be somewhere in the Main City. In fact, I do believe she might be close to the palace. Please do not fear; if you have made it this far then I believe in your ability to progress further. Keeping the wand with you should especially help you.
As for myself, I am quite fine thank you. Again, that wand helped protect me, and by now I should be in a safe location-with my precious stock of fabulous Drackonack swords and various wands for all mages of every skill level. Be sure to stop by here in this humble little shop of Qasala again when the crisis is over, and tell all your friends about it too-I'll be having a sale!
Remember to be grateful for life, and for the lives the motes give up to help you-you did know that motes were a loose combination of magic and life energy, right?
Yours Truly,
Samad
PS: Send my regards to Cremare and Edna if you happen to meet them again before I do. I miss them and their silly arguments. And they NEVER write to me…
PPS: As far as payment goes, it amounts to 74,300 NP-quite the deal, eh? Be thankful that she provided most of her own ingredients…but don't worry about paying that until after this mess is sorted out.
PPPS: I hate ink sometimes. Please don't mention the "drackonack" bit…
Other than the strangeness of what he just read, it was something to be taken seriously.
This guy-Samad-had not only been expecting him, but he had also made a powerful weapon for Roberta, and now he realized why this wand seemed so familiar. Anyone who knew Cremare was also probably a source to be trusted as well. The guy did have some rather odd friends though…
The Werelupe examined the wand yet again. What a wonder…and for a final dash of certainty, that was Illusen's magic alright. The light from its orange-sized core was becoming more jagged now and fading away to a quiet pulse…placing the weapon and the letter in his bag, he poked his head out of the tent and looked at the highly-visible palace across the river.
"Just hang on…I'm almost there…" he muttered, before making a sprint outside of Qasala just in case those minions decided to show their ugly little Skeith and Scarabug faces again. And yes, he truly did have the urge to say something that horribly corny-but it's the meaning behind the words that counts, right?

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

The main city really put him on edge.
His fur, by now dingy and stinky due to the muck he was forced to travel in, still had enough of its own free will to raise itself along the back of his neck-it was far more dramatic now that he actually had a mane of sorts-and his ears were high in the air. This place, unlike Qasala, was just far too quiet. The longer it went on like this, the more frightened and jumpy he felt. Something should have raced out to greet him by now while he strolled down the big main street between the broken street stands covered in that same strange fungus that he saw back in the woods. There was nothing looking at him from the dark corners of the city or getting in his way while he got closer to the palace. What really got on his nerves, though, was that he always felt like there was something watching him, something highly dangerous, something that wanted to eat him alive…and when he looked around, there was absolutely nothing. He should have been able to tell, really, because no matter what the demon they always could be seen by their glowing red or yellow eyes. The boy did get the scare of his life, though, when he accidentally stepped on some "plant" and it lashed out in response, and he had screamed like a cockatiel and swiped his sword at it.
'Hopefully…that won't happen again anytime soon,' Even now, in this situation, he was still worried about someone catching him in such a humiliating position, '…now where's the real enemy?'
Up the stairs to the palace he walked. Everything was yet again silent, save for the squishing of the soaked carpet beneath his feet. Though the doors were high, the handles were not-at least at his height, because he'd grown two or three inches after his transformation-and his paws curled around them and he tugged gingerly as a test.
Nope, not a budge.
Tor pulled harder, cursing to himself for hoping that maybe the door would be left open. Of course it's locked-rescuing her wouldn't be that easy, jeez…again he tried, and again his attempts were fruitless.
"ARGH!" Tor shouted, grabbing his swords and slamming them against the doors in frustration. A shower of splinters graced him, followed by a loud rumbling and shaking that he figured was very bad news. He removed his swords from the door and gripped them tightly.
"…so…what…all I had to do was knock?"
Others might have glared at him but at this point he appreciated his bad sense of humor. Suddenly the doors flew open and his nose nearly broke as they slammed into his face; a torrent of transparent black liquid swirled with purple shot out subsequently and crashed into the young Lupe. If it weren't for his sturdy armor and dumb luck, Tor probably would have been dead at that point…but instead, he was laying on the ground sputtering in the middle of the suddenly cleared arena, the liquid forming a giant barrier ring around him. Hearing a hissing noise, the knight checked his nose and confirmed it was bleeding, rose as quickly as possible and added two and two together-he was going to be pulled into a big fight.
His conclusion was correct. Blacker, opaque liquid dispersed itself through the wall-
-that seemed to shake as her head was forcefully slammed against it-
-and three lumps took shape. Two of them on either side of the knight rose above and formed messily-scaled arms, the third in front of him morphed into a dark skull with a massive overbite that appeared to have been exposed to an hour in a microwave followed by acid abuse. There they were-the signature red eyes in hollowed out eye chambers, giving the impression of looking down an active volcano vent, but instead of being angry they seemed…pleased. In the sadistic manner that a predator would be when the prey walks so willingly in its trap. The teeth on the jaws were not well-defined, and more like elongated pegs; not that they needed to be anyway, as his main weapons seemed to be those big crystalline claws on the wiggly arms he had sprouted. As an introduction the head laughed mercilessly, revealing his gaping mouth and a glowing, lavender, crystal uvula with a curled up shape inside. Horror branched through his body as he suddenly realized who it was.
"Roberta!" The Werelupe knight cried out, only to get a roar in return and a splattering of purple gunk on him. This didn't faze him in the least and he charged at the head; its jaws clamped shut and the blades he attempted to use to pierce the skull bounced off harmlessly. Between the two eyes the folds of rock-hard "skin" lowered themselves to reveal a round crystal the same color as Roberta's prison. He didn't have time to react at all as the crystal charged up energy and then unleashed it at him, and it didn't matter whether he had his armor on or not because it burned right through him and hurt like hell.
He fell over, quite far away from his intended target. Tor growled viciously, making great use of his fangs, "…you'll pay for that…you'll see-"
Unfortunately, that didn't last long. The left hand suddenly back-handedly slapped Tor and knocked him off the ground again, and the right hand followed by hovering above him and then slapping with its palm. Those hands were easily twice Tormund's size; he couldn't breathe for a few moments as the right hand attempted to crush the life out of him. When it finally lifted he turned over and nearly puked in his effort to get air back in his lungs. Only through the miracle that was his armor did he manage to get out of that scrape with no broken ribs.
'My luck can only hold out for so long though,' he grimaced, getting a hold of himself and standing back up despite his pain-
-was ravaging her body, as if she hadn't been abused for years already, THE HATE-
-putting his weapons out in the ready position. Already he was feeling weak; if he didn't pick up the pace he would lose this fight. There that skull was, openly mocking him with his crazy laugh, his uvula wiggling tantalizingly. If only he had the power of extreme speed, then he'd show that-
Now was no time for imaginary scenarios and wishes, he thought as he narrowly ducked a swipe from an offending hand. Tor lashed out at the arm that followed, but it also bounced off harmlessly like it had done with the skull. Before worrying about doing damage, the boy told himself, he needed to find a weak point, and fast-his cat-like eyes darted around, hoping for some sort of weak point-underneath the palm there was nothing but stone-like skin, as he found out while he quickly jumped out of the way-he was being cornered to the edge of the ring, as he started to quickly find out-the arm stretched out, and that's when it finally came to him.
'The point where the arms and the walls meet isn't covered by any of that annoying skin…' he observed, only to get knocked off and pounded a couple of times by the hands which threw him toward the head. A moment of elation came over him as he saw that the head had the same weakness, until he felt the burn of that goddamn laser again. Tor barely had the energy to swear after that, and fished around in his bag until he found a small blue potion which he drank up greedily, '…who would have thought Kauvara potions would come in handy…'
Leaping back into action (quite literally, as the potion really gave him quite a boost in a short amount of time), he hoped to goodness that his plan would work. Running around with all the speed and endurance he could muster, the hands followed foolishly after him, and he managed to stretch one of the arms out before attacking it furiously and successfully cutting through the goo that gave it form. Underneath it he could see a yellow line of energy; Tor swung down sharply and the connection was severed; the arm disappeared promptly with the remaining left one raising up in the air in confusion. Just as quickly it came down, pounding the ground wildly; it caught Tor's fluffy tail but he still got to escape and started attacking the weak point again, severing the connection on the left arm and causing that one to simply vanish in midair.
In a huge amount of pain, the skull roared loudly, keeping its mouth open while its eyes rolled backwards-
-she went, hurdling into the stove, and her children were crying so loudly, and the house was shaking-
-and, unexpectedly, all was still. He wasted no time, not hesitating to hop inside the mouth. Examining the uvula for a mere second, he swung his sword at the crystal and, unlike the skin of before, it cracked a little. Hope flooded his body. He swung yet again, and started to try and go as fast as possible. It was cracking too slowly, much too slowly…frustration started to make an entrance into his mind-
Fire flooded his surroundings and he was caught in the torrent too, shot out through the stream of energy right back in the arena with fur smoking. It was a miracle that he wasn't a complete crisp yet…perhaps his luck was still holding out…fishing around and this time pulling out a Peachpa, he ate it in one bite just as the head squirmed around furiously and vanished into the wall. The young Lupe stood again and stayed dead center, preparing for the inevitable attack-which came of course-the head lashed out and started to bite crazily at him, a vulnerable neck forming-Tor had no time to waste and got out of the way of the laser that was the real attack, running behind the head and slashing with his twin swords. It got the results he wanted. He couldn't quite cut the line that connected the head to the wall and whatever else was its source, but he did manage to fracture it and it sunk back in a most humble manner, mouth lolling open. As a second attempt Tor came in the mouth again, going straight up to the uvula holding Roberta prisoner and hitting at the spots he had targeted before.
This time, he succeeded.
Crystal bits fell away and Roberta as well; Tor dropped his swords and caught her limp form. Setting her down, he fished around for a third time in his pack, this time obtaining the Amulet that was originally given to her by Jerdana, and hastily put it around her neck. The stone in the amulet glowed; he put her back in his arms, hoping for her eyes to open…
…they fluttered open. If he weren't so relieved and tired he would have shouted and leaped for-
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Roberta's violet eyes were wide and fearful, and she squirmed violently in his arms until she fell out on her own accord and continued to scream as if pursued by something, tears flooding her face. Oh shit…he had begun to forget what he looked like at this point-she didn't recognize him, of course she was going to scream in the face of a monster-
"Roberta, hold it, it's me, To-!" The mouth trembled as the monster began to awaken again. He muttered a few swears as he put his trusty weapons back where they belonged, then forcefully carried the disoriented Acara out of the mouth before they were subjected to another frying session a la giant flamethrower. And all the while she was just screaming, and crying, and shaking her head and sobbing like she had been tortured-
"ROBERTA!" He shouted in a desperate plea to get her attention, "Please stop! It's me, Tor! Don't you recognize me?"
The head had already withdrawn into the wall. Thinking quickly, he dug into his bag again and pulled out the wand that he just remembered he needed to give her. Upon being in the proximity of its destined master it shone brilliantly, and that alone seemed to have calmed her down as she opened her eyes once more and blinked tamely. Her breathing was still ragged though, strained, and he couldn't understand why…the girl, despite this, turned to her wand and grasped the handle, staring dumbly. Tor wasn't sure how capable she was at the moment, but frankly they were still surrounded by this monster, and they weren't getting out anytime soon unless…
"Roberta," he tried again, "Listen to me, alright? You've gotta get Solarin or whoever you can get right now, because we need to get going…"
His voice shook. The head had emerged, but this time it had no vulnerable neck. Instead, it was sucking energy from the palace itself, and the black purple liquid rushed up to begin forming a proper body, and eight arms were starting to sprout from the monster…
"Roberta, please!" Said he more urgently to his female companion, who was still not functioning as she should be. In another situation he would be much more understanding and would give her space to recover, but now was not the time…!
The monster's red eyes were absolutely furious, and this time there would be no playing around with the food-
"…S…Solarin…"
The wand blinked in response to her whisper, and the witch collapsed against Tor and nearly lost her (very expensive) weapon in the process, but for the knight's fast reflexes. He looked up at the sky expectantly, but there was no grand white and mute pony flying about, just stormy skies and the growing shadow of the enemy…he jumped with a small squeak as the vibrations of the hands pounded the earth, easily knocking over what few buildings remained, and those arms were beginning to carry that disgusting body with the loosely-scaled back and exposed ribs and the little hanging blue lantern-like appendages that emitted the screams of neopets it had absorbed into it. Soon enough it was going to close in on the defenseless duo, and that skull-which was now a lot bigger than before-was opening its mouth to fire a laser that would make the beams from before look cute and cuddly.
The noisy flapping of hard-working white wings were just what he needed to hear right then. Looking skyward toward the horizon, he saw the snowy steed rapidly approach them. The monster had also seen this potential interference, and the barrier that reached around Tor and Roberta sprouted liquid tentacles that reached across the sky and tried to knock him away-fortunately Solarin wasn't a Royal Uni for nothing, and his agility training came in handy at the moment as he ducked and weaved through the opposition-he swooped down toward the two in need while the tentacles did a last-resort maneuver and wrapped around each other, creating a ceiling to close above them-Tor nearly swore for at least the fifth time as he hopped on the horse's back, and he just thought he might fail-
If you need help, you should ask…
It was that female voice again. But no time for questions.
'YES! Yes please, hurry and help if you can!"
The amulets of both Tor and Roberta shone with power, and a sphere of bright light surrounded them all, bursting right through the oppressive ceiling. Tentacles followed after them, but the shield allowed Solarin to fly relatively undisturbed, and even when an energy beam was shot after them, they had risen high enough into the air for it to be inaccurate…

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Later, he would remark about how powerful these amulets were, that they were far more than just protection against the clouds. Later he would gaze into Roberta's face once she woke up, hopefully not scaring the living daylights out of her through his monstrous appearance this time, and help her feel better about the whole ordeal.
Right now, while Solarin was headed toward the safest place in the sky-Faerieland-he was just relieved that everyone was still alive.

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