Ocean: Uprise of Descent [Adv. Lit, Sci/Fant.] 3 Slots left!

What should I do after Ocean?

Finish the books	14.3%	[ 17 ]
Make another roleplay series	19.3%	[ 23 ]
Both of the above	37.8%	[ 45 ]
Take a break!	28.6%	[ 34 ]
Total Votes:			[ 119 ]

[Micah Regal]

Welcome everyone to the Fifth installment of the Ocean Series, this installment is called Ocean: Uprise of Descent.

This is the continuation of Ocean IV, that led Micah Regal and his crew to Weapon Ocean in the year of 2499 and ended with Ocean being successfully lit, and leaving Micah left behind, believed to be dead.

Micah's sacrifice guaranteed that his friends, his crew and their descendants would have the blessing of Imperfect Immortality, meaning that they would be able to live forever, yet at the same time if dealt with mortal wounds, they could die like any mortal. Micah trusted his companions that they would do the right thing, and that they would be able to continue to do his will even after he was long gone.

Now we fast forward One-hundred and fifty years, and the same crew that Micah left behind still lives, some in solitude, and some telling of his great feats. But like most heroes, time erases most of the story and only a hollow name remains. But there's something different to this name, his own legacy has continued.

In the year of 2630, Two healthy babies were born from Melanie Regal, a boy and a girl, Zairecka Regal and Atheniel Regal, two children to carry on the Regal name. Mimi decided to raise Zairecka Regal to be like her father and keep the Royal Regallian name, while Atheniel Regal would be kept by Lela Kelena, a Elf that travelled with Micah during the quest for Weapon Ocean.

Now they have all matured into adults, and both are about to find their place in the universe, but prophecies of doom and suffering foretold are beginning to unravel, and the universe is slowly beginning to pit themselves against one another for the war to end all wars, but only one name has been whispered that could help bring balance to the universe. That name is Micah Regal.

Will he be able to bring peace back to the universe? Or will he fall trying to protect the universe? Only time will tell.

Backstory | Rules | Contact | Story

[Micah Regal]

Respect the members of the Roleplay.

We are Advanced Literate so one liners and chat speak is looked down upon.

If you need to make a statement OOC, please post it in the OOC. If you post in OOC in the IC thread, I will ask for the text to be deleted.

If you have any questions, contact Micah Regal.

Have an Ego? Prepare for it to be deflated upon entering.

God modding will result in a instant banning from Ocean.

Making me mad isn't a good thing, and it's rather hard too. So don't try it.

Follow the Gaia ToS.





Backstory | Rules | Contact | Story

[Micah Regal]

If you ever need to contact Micah Regal about anything, feel free to PM him, or send him an e-mail at [e-mail], the same address may be used for MSN Messenger if wanted.

Also, for talking to the other roleplayers, or just interested in joining, feel free to check the OOC Thread.

Backstory | Rules | Contact | Story

[Micah Regal]

The story to Ocean: Uprise of Descent doesn't take off after Ocean IV, instead it happens One hundred and fifty years in the future, in the year 2649. Civilization hasn't changed much since 2499, nor has human nature. Although one hundred and fifty one years of peace has led to stable economic growth and a revolution in art, technology, and feelings towards other races.

All though the war between Zeloans and Humans are over, many humans do hold some resentment towards the Zeloans, many still feeling that a Second Zeloan War is possible, if not inevitable. In the span of over two centuries, the Human race lost so many able body men that if all of the dead were counted, it would be more than the current populations of both Human and Zeloan species. The war was horrid, but one emotion remains on the tip of every senator's tongue. That word is vengeance.

But this leads to a greater debate, while the Terran Empire scouts more planets for colonization, many believe that looking for intelligent life is a must before colonizing to prevent another war on the scale of the Zeloans occurring, while another group believe that humans should simply kill off any intelligent life that resides on target worlds in order to make sure another war doesn't happen. Talks within the senate have picked up heat, and Secession of planets has now been brought up.

With the fear of Civil War looming, many planets have began to mobilize forces and conscript more men to join the battle.

But unbeknownst to many, there are bigger forces at work, and prophecy is close to being fulfilled. And the friends of Micah Regal are stuck in the midst of it all, as well as his children. But with October beginning, many can feel something a lot more grave coming in with the autumn winds...

Backstory | Rules | Contact | Story

[Micah Regal]

Chapters

- Part One -

1. Beginnings Pages 1 - 6
2. Calm Before The Storm Pages 6 - 16
3. Welcome to The War

Part One: Prelude, Pages 16 - 20

Part Two: Deployment, Pages 20 - 26
4. Down the Streets, Into the Fire Pages 26 - 32

-Part Two-

5. Ignition Pages 32 - 46
6. Cemetery Road Pages 46 - 59
7. Vagabonds & Soldiers 59 -

[Micah Regal]

Chapter 1 . . .

- October 5, 2649 -


Location

T h e_ B l u e _G l o b e

"If I could have one last memory, it would be looking at Planet Earth from my craft, just staring down, looking down at beauty in its purest form." ~ Micah Regal, Memoirs

. . . "Beginnings"

[Artwra]

Prepare yourself to meet_____
the girl who cannot sleep,
Dividing every question 'til the questions are complete._____
Every twisted tongue,__________
she studies every one.__________
She won't leave any stone unturned; the night is oh! so young.

Computing location...
Date: 4th October 2649
France, Earth, Astral Sector



There have been plenty of legends about the hero Micah Regal.

It is uncertain as to where they originate, but a century and a half is more than time enough for history to progress to facts into myth. And of course, like any good myth, fairly few know of him and fewer still can agree on the same story. There is one tale which most people stick to, but that is drawn from one book, almost entirely unsourced. Its writer is the only one who claims to be an expert on Micah Regal, and he is returning to Earth shortly. No doubt at this point he will be giving his usual talks on 'the hero', as I know he is inclined to say, and I intend to be able to attend these ones as I was not able to do two and a half years ago.

It is said that one hundred and fifty years ago, Micah Regal led some of his followers on a deadly mission to Weapon Ocean, a mehcanism of great power which could have as easily destroyed the world as saved it. Personally, I have yet to hear direct evidence of this. It is said that he had become obsessed with the idea whilst still in his teens, younger even than I am now. This, from what else I have heard of the man, I consider quite believable. And after that, it is said, his work was done and he was called to other matters than returning to our mere human universe; he is happier doing his heroic work than returning to his family - his wife and daughter. This I can vouch for.

My name is Zairecka Regal, the True Regal Heir, and my father disappeared a great time before I was born.

Of course, evidence has to be weighed before a conclusion on a matter can be reached: that is what judge and jury have been set for throughout history. Facts, though, are undeniable, and therefore it is the facts about my father which I seek. Were my mother willing or able to tell me more, I would accept that for now and wait for some years further until I try to exercise my right to know about my roots. However, the development of my own Vasa powers has forced my hand, whilst the return of this gentleman historian, who goes by the name of Siarl Pihanna I believe, has made this a pertinent time to turn my attentions from books back towards the members of the Ocean team. Many of them will simply not talk about him all that much as they have learnt which way my questions tend to turn, and so it will be good to see a fresh viewpoint.

The only member of the team who talks freely - some would say a touch too freely - about Micah is Sìobhan Fairchild, often as her daughter explores the great gardens of the family house. Even she knows, though, that her account is well biased in his favour.

I sometimes despair of the skewing of accounts by emotions, especially those so strong as she betrays for him. Admittedly, my own mother's tales carry their bitterness heavily in each word that leaves her lips. I can read the admiration which this Siarl Pihanna holds for my father in his book, but then again it is a more distant admiration and he seems to acknowledge as well that my father was, as all are, an imperfect being. Perhaps my flaw is in my determination, my lack of ability to turn my mind away from something once it has been locked on. I am a missile of the mind. Or then again, perhaps the greatest of my flaws is that I will not let you know that I care until my guns are against the base of your neck.

Yes, somehow that seems the greater flaw.

Until I find my father's story, I fear that I cannot know the beginnings of mine and therefore cannot begin to write the greater length of my own story. I am determined, therefore, to find out the origins of his story and if need be to make it known in its truth and entirety. I will drink in its details, consume its whole, and only once it is settled and right in my mind will I turn the true knowledge of Micah Regal upon the unsuspecting universe.

We all need heroes. We all need great figures on whom to model our lives and by whose exploits we can compare our own. Be they heroes of legendary or those of the ordinary, everday sort whose exploits make us smile and give us some hope in our day to day lives. I suspect, perhaps I fear, that Micah Regal was only attempting to be the former and has accidentally achieved the latter. From what has been said, he was attempting to answer his own desires rather than those of the people, or perhaps it was the other way round; nothing is ever clear in translation. However, it is clear that he did not seek the greatness which somehow met him, that he did not expect phrases from his exploits and street names from his own name, did not expect a book to be written about him.

Yes, we all need heroes. And Micah Regal has accidentally become one of the heroes whom people reach out for nowadays. I intend to find out why this has become the case.

_____Can you be sure we haven't met?
See the eyes, they don't forget.
_____They wander through the passageways that tease the restless mind.
__________Can't afford to slip;
__________The picture's gotta fit;
Her world's a photograph that get's dissected bit by bit.

[Micah Regal]

The morning was chilly, with a fog rolling through the northern mountains of old Germany. The birds were singing songs and various rodents and other small animals ran across the dense forest. All of the animals began to scatter when the sounds of footsteps reached their ears. The sound of humming quickly accompanied the singing of the birds when a young man with a rifle on his shoulder strolled through the forest. The fellow scanned every tree and the ground, trying his best to remember every single tree, as if it was just another familiar face. The kid loved nature, just like the mother who raised him.

After a while the young man came across a tree he remembered and he carefully scanned the ground below the tree. After digging through a small amount of leaves he found an empty trap with the name "Ath" written in red across the silver blades of the game trap. The young man's name was Atheniel, Ath for short to those who knew him. Atheniel continued to hum while checking more traps, and each and everyone of them were empty. Sighing and shaking his head he took out a whistle and blew into it. It was a dog whistle, and it wasn't long before a German Shepherd came running in his direction, tag wagging and a gentle smile on it's face. Kneeling on one knee he gave the dog a few pats and called to it. First barking before chasing after her owner, the dog kept a curious yet cautious look on her face. Come on girl, let's see what Mom has for us, okay? Giving the dog another pat, he smiled and looked around to make sure he wasn't lost. Taking out the rifle's magazine and tying it around his back, Atheniel took out a global positioning system, first shaking the device he quickly noticed that it wasn't working.

Atheniel sat down under a tree trying to get the compass to work. His dog, Gwen sat down next to him staring down at the shiny, circular device in his hand. Well, we already know she's going to be mad at the fact that there were no catches tonight, but if we get lost, god knows what will happen... I swear you're lucky that you are a dog at times Gwen. Gwen responded with a bark and a lick down Atheniel's face. Sighing he stood up, finally getting the compass to work. Looks like home is this way, I swear we need to mark paths on these trees... If you weren't used to the woods, you would get lost quickly, but lucky for Atheniel, he was raised in these forests, and at nineteen years of age, these forests were like a home to him. In fact, the closest he had ever been to a city was looking at the lights from a distance. The only knowledge of the outside world he ever knew was in the books and monitors he would constantly read in his spare time. But other than that his days were the same thing, find food and come back in one piece. It was a simple life, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Atheniel made his progress through the dense forests with Gwen following closely behind him. Ath raised Gwen as a Pup, and has been his hunting companion ever since. The forest was beginning to turn all different shades of colors, from red, orange, gold, to brown. Autumn made her presence known, but it was a beautiful sight to see, especially in the middle of it all, with leaves falling all around him. Ath didn't want the moment to end, the cold winds blowing through his hair, blowing his coat behind him, he felt free and close to nature it was euphoric. Coming back to his senses, he could feel Gwen brush up against his legs barking up at him. Nodding down at her he continued walking, this time with Gwen walking next to him, as if she was trying to keep in check. Soon, home was in sight. Ath smiled and began to run, Gwen still keeping pace with him. To his right he could see the Dantez's house, there his friend Jaeda lived, he never met her parents seeing as they were always out on vacations, he always thought they were rich or just busy, either way he would love to meet them. But home was in sight, Atheniel sighed and looked down at Gwen. Well, here's judgement day eh? Laughing, Atheniel walked up to the house and waited for Lela to catch sight of him, he was sure that she already heard him approaching.

[treasured one]

I may be small, but...

It was a bright morning, chilly but bright, and when she woke up she wondered if anything interesting was going to happen today. Even after all this time when she opened her eyes she still half-expected to see some destroyed building or dripping tunnel ceiling above her, but alas, it always turned out to be the white ceiling of the little cottage. Lela the elf shook her head at her own silliness, then stood, stretched, and headed over to her closet. She picked out a little yellow dress that had a matching jacket and gloves. Ignoring the accessories, she slipped the dress on and headed out to the kitchen.

It appeared Atheniel was already gone, checking the traps like the good boy that he was. There was a time when she would have to drag him out of bed and they would go out together, but that seemed long ago now. She began to prepare breakfast for the two of them, figuring he would be returning soon, when a nagging thought at the back of her head made its voice heard. She put down the pan she was holding and returned to the closet in her bedroom. Opening the door, she found what she was looking for - a box that had been hiding under her shoes since she moved in.

She brushed all of the shoes off of the box, then tried to lift the box out. It was heavier than she was expecting it to be, so the second time she tried to lift it she was ready for the weight, and she moved it into the middle of her room. She then went to her dresser and fished the band with the key on it out of her jewelry box, and smiled as she remembered that she'd put it on the same band as her mother's feather. She returned to the box and settled down in front of it, pushing the old fashioned key into the old fashioned lock.

Opening the box brought another, wider smile to her face. Right on top, was the journal that she had written when the first week back on Coi Prime - now 150 years old. She had to fight not to open it, mostly because she knew that if she opened it she would read it all the way through. Under that were her clothes. Her corset, jacket, skirt, boots, stained but clean, - the ones she wore through injuries, volcanoes, snow, space, and everything that they did during the Ocean journey. Her pack, filled with everything she'd need if they decided to up and leave one day (something that was sounding more appealing by the day), and under that, ah, there they were, her weapons. The daggers and fist-blades, that had spent so much time in her hands, and the pistols that haven't spent very much time in her hands. Her bow, arrows, and quiver were back on Coi Prime, in her locked office in a case made of crystal - preserved for eternity.

She lifted her dagger out of the bottom of the box, unsheathed it and ran a flat palm along the perpetually sharp blade. It was somehow comforting, having the handle in her hand again, and she swept it gracefully around in front of her, then heard the sound of footsteps and laughter nearing the house. "s**t! She muttered, setting the dagger and sheath down, and sprinting back into the kitchen, forgetting about all the stuff she'd left out on the floor in her room - door open.

She picked the pan up again as if she hadn't put it down, waited a moment, then, "Atheniel?" She called out through the open window, certain it was him. There was a distinct way he walked, and she knew it almost as well as she knew the back of her hand. He was later than usual; she wondered if the traps had caught anything, or what had detained him if they had not. "I'm getting breakfast ready." He was probably expecting her to be upset, but her heart was still pounding too hard to be angry with him.

...I am mighty.

[Micah Regal]

All right Ma, I'll be right in. Lela's calm voice was reassuring to Atheniel and after making sure there wasn't a bullet in the rifle he opened the door and walked inside, Gwen following closely behind him. Atheniel took off his coat and his gloves and sat down in the dining room. The dining room had a massive window that looked out across the backyard and into the forest. Setting the magazine down on the table Ath looked at the bullets in the casing. He never liked the look of bullets nor the feel of a rifle in his hand, but that was how they lived. It was quiet, peaceful, and carefree, but he knew there was a lot more out there, just a few hundred miles lay metropolises inside massive gates dating back to the war, back when the heroes and heroines reigned supreme. But if Ath was given the choice between war and peace, he would pick peace like any other sensible being.

The smells of breakfast quickly made Atheniel hungry while he looked down at Gwen who had a hungry look on her face. Atheniel smiled down at her and shrugged. Hey, I'm hungry like you, but I'm patient. Gwen's tail stopped wagging and she closed her mouth and licked her lips as if she was waiting for her master to give her food. Don't give me that look, you're not a puppy anymore Gwen. Laughing Atheniel searched his pockets for anything edible for her, but instead got a hold of his GPS. Atheniel put the malfunctioning device on the table and looked it over with his eyes for a while. There was a constant high pitched sound coming from inside the machine, he already knew that something inside was fried, he would have to fix it again. The green screen had a small crack running down the machine, with a irritated sigh Atheniel put his GPS back in his pocket. Standing up, Atheniel looked around for his monitor, he always misplaced it, but whenever he looked for it, it would always be a short distance away from him and usually in a place he would never suspect it.

Making his way to the Living room, he saw the monitor screen down underneath an old rocking-chair. Scratching his head for a moment, Atheniel tried to remember how and why he placed his expensive monitor under his chair. His pondering came up empty. Must be sleepwalking again... With his monitor in his hand, he walked back into the dining room and sat back down in the same chair and turned on the monitor. The screen flashed onto a menu, leading to various things like Games, Sports, Chat, News and plenty of others. Without hesitation, Atheniel pressed the "News" button. After a little bit of loading the news screen turned on, with various stories from around the galaxy. The main article caught Ath's attention and he quickly pressed the screen to begin loading the story.

~

October 5th, 2649
Murs, Mizuaria

TENSIONS CONTINUE TO RISE IN THE SENATE OVER THE COLONY DEBATE.

The arguments in the Senate today got bitter quickly, with protesters outside showing pictures of slain soldiers during the Zeloan War their signs saying "prevent this" and "end this forever" while these "Pro-kill" protesters came to support the Mizuarian senators who take the kill approach, senators from Earth, Narusharanisa, and Avlen Prime continued to preach "Diplomacy is the answer." Tensions at the moment are so tight that you can feel it in the air, and in the glares of the senators.

Many civilians are beginning to be worried over the escalating anger in the Senate, and many see a Civil War around the corner if this anger continues to boil as it is now.

This could be the beginning of what many see as the "Big Four" beginning to square off against one another, the lines are drawn and they are as clear as daylight.

Watching with careful eyes, Marianne Richards, TE News Mizuaria.

~

Atheniel turned off the monitor after he read the article. Sighing he looked at Gwen and shook his head. "Looks like it's a bad time to be growing up..."

[Artwra]

Soul soldier with your gun held high,_____
where does the crow fly?
Soul soldier with your gun held high,_____
will you follow it home?

Computing location...
Date: 4th October 2649
Earth Orbit, Earth, Astral Sector



Seeking connection: “Selern”
Connecting…
Connecting…
Connection established.
›› Siarl? Is that you?
Hello to you too, Selern. Who else would it be?
›› It’s gone midnight here.
I’m in space. I can’t tell. Anyway, what’s the news from back on Earth then?
›› If you’ll pardon the old cliché, I have good news and I have bad news.
Bad news first.
›› That ought to be your motto. Oh well. This is hard to say, but… Uncle Hann is dead.
I’m sorry to hear that. When’s the funeral? I’ll see if I can make it back.
›› The funeral was last week, Siarl.
WHAT?
›› It was… at Hann’s request. He said that he didn’t want you at the funeral and that we weren’t to tell you until after.
This is still about Page, isn’t it? It wasn’t my fault that the boy went off to become a bounty hunter. Nine bloody years ago. Still, you try telling that to Hann after the kid got himself killed in a barfight.
›› I know, Siarl, I know. But really, Father would never disobey what was in Hann’s will. They were too close.
Brotherly love indeed. Well, if Hann would go beyond the grave to get rid of me then I might as well be glad that he got his last wish. What is the good news?
›› Do you recall that I told you about my brother Lucas getting married? A young lady called Cann?
Lady indeed; you get that phrase from me. Yes, I remember.
›› They have a child, about a week old now. They called him Siarl, after you.
It had to happen eventually.
›› Why do I get the impression that you are laughing?
Because you are perceptive. I have been looking after your family like some sort of twisted fairy godfather for four generations now, since your grandmother was nineteen. It was going to happen eventually that one of the clan got named after me.
›› Dammit, the connections playing up.
I might be having problems at this end. I can’t stop travelling just to talk.
›› Well, I’ll contact you in MY morning then – eight or nine hours’ time minimum so I can get some sleep. I don’t pity Lucas and Cann having to look after the child.
That’s the first one of you in about eighty years that I haven’t been around to help bring up, and it’s my bloody namesake!
›› Well, you can get some unbroken sleep then! Talk to you in my morning.
Alright, then. Sleep well, Selern.
›› And you, Uncle.
Oi!
Connection terminated


Siarl laughed, shook his head and leant back from the screen. It was the sort of slightly rambling nonsense that they usually traded whilst he was in orbit, but even so there was a hint of sadness about the distance that there still was between him and the Earth. He'd spent years enough a traveller, but the last ninety years and more or however much it had been were enough to have reminded him how good it was to have a stable base, a family. Siarl knew full well that he'd had more trouble than many finding that stability, that he had wasted more time than was strictly necessary just wandering and searching because he couldn't really decide what he wanted from things. Never had been able to, when he thought about it.

Siarl's eyes wandered across the cockpit of the two-man craft that he had. It may have been just him on board, or to be more precise him and the computer, but there was something about a one-man craft that had just seemed too... alone. Fruitcake, that's what you are, he told himself idly. Just another unconsidered insult. His gaze fell after a moment on a picture - an old one, and by that he meant a good seventy years or so old. Two people: a young woman, long dark waves of hair and mismatched tie-dyed clothes, every inch the modern environmentalist; and next to her an older man with slightly greying blonde hair and an easy smile. To judge by their apparent ages they could easily have been father and daughter. Siarl reached up to rub a slight smudge off the glass and shook his head at the picture of himself and the girl he had befriended. Befriended, given away at her wedding, watched grow old and die. It was the closest thing that he'd ever had to a family to help bring up hers - three generations of them now - but some of them still did not quite seem to want him around. Oh well, there were always arguements.

He glanced across to make sure that the autopilot was still on, despite the fact that he knew full well it would be. Anyone who had been a pilot for as long as he had did not dare trust any sort of autopilot system. The ship was pretty old, but it was younger than him, so overall that was no problem. Just old enough that the other pilots didn't want it and held him in a mixture of awe and worry for the fact that he even flew it; he didn't say anything about the fact that he'd been flying for something like one hundred and seventy years now. It sounded like he was talking about reincarnation and various lives.

Leaning back in his chair, he turned the lights down a little lower to save energy and rubbed his eyes. Midnight in Selern's timezone. Well, it hadn't been intentional, but it was pretty typical, and for some reason he did tend to manage the early hours of the morning whenever he tried to get in touch. It was always daytime when you were heading back into orbit around Earth with the sun in your view, so everything tended to get a bit Arctic Circle and stop mattering after a while. But the time that Siarl had allotted himself to search again was past, and he was returning to see how the extended family that he had sort of adopted was getting on, meet any new members, give a few more talks. Selern said that he'd contacted a string of schools this time, five a week for a three week run, and to be honest Siarl thought that it was a good idea. If you told the kids then they had a good chance of remembering it longer, spreading the story around.

"Marie, continue on course to landing site." Yes, he'd named the bloody ship after the one that Micah used to have. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, then he'd not been able to face getting rid of her no matter how the name started to sound like Marina after a while.

"Yes, Siarl."

He gave the controls a friendly pat, then wandered back into the ship to get some sleep. It would probably be a good idea to try and get his bodyclock back into the same time zone as the one that he would be landing in, but that would mean setting the ship's clock to the atomic earth-time clock that the ship carried. Checked with radio signals. A vague soothing croon started over the radio system; thank god for AI systems that remembered how often you wanted some music to let you get to sleep. Siarl muttered a thank you that no-one would hear, grabbed from the shelf next to his bunk the book that he was slowly working his way through, and flopped down onto the bed.

Words drifted through the music, some ancient Celtic language. Words without any meaning; there was something comforting about that. Siarl couldn't help wondering whether the last two and a half years would have seen a great number of changes - on earth in general, not just in the family. But with Hann dead and a new nephew - called Siarl, for goodness' sake - there might be a shift of power to the side that was still actually speaking to him, for a start. That would be a relief.

Still, the only way that he was going to find out was by returning, and whilst he was there the next round of speeches and presentations to give, people to remind that Micah Regal was real and not just a myth on the scale of Robin Hood. He'd considered getting Lela to back up his claims, but that wouldn't have been fair on her. The names that he'd used in the book were real, after some indecisiveness on that count - aside from his own. When he'd last used his real name was anyone's guess, and it wasn't all that long ago that he'd completely frozen trying to remember what his middle name had once been. Siarl had just become so natural by now. But that didn't matter; having the person talking about Micah with the same name as someone who wrote a book ninety-odd years ago on the topic would raise eyebrows; someone who had travelled with Micah would get an astonishing level of attention which he didn't really want. But there he was back to his first name again, not that even one of Lalitanne's family knew that little detail, but that didn't matter overall either. He was considering putting together another book, but wasn't sure that there was much left that he wanted to say without implicating the other members that had followed Micah. But something ought to bring back attention, after all... you almost wanted the git to show himself to the world again...

Even as he drifted into an uneasy sleep, Siarl was still considering whether he could bring back the memory of Micah Regal to the public mind. He didn't want to think about when that had become a priority.

* * *


Earth was, well... Earth. It changed a little bit every time that he left it and then returned, but it was never enough to really upset him from settling back into the swing of matters and finding out some branch of the family that actually approved of him again. In this case it was Lucas and Cann, complete with new namesake - the greatest irony; his namesake didn't even have his real name - that welcomed him in, gave him the baby to hold and tried to work out where Selern had gone and secreted himself this time. It didn't take them long to find him, and then to get hold of others, and before Siarl had even managed to get his case out of the hall and his pass card that would get him back to his ship safely stored, the family had descended again. Well, the half that approved of him, in any case. Not the half that thought he was strange... unnatural. Just because he had known their grandmother or great-grandmother or however many generations back it was, and then of course he was a bad influence because he had, in another life and mostly on other planets, been a bounty hunter.

"Well, it's good to see that your method of organisation hasn't changed," Lucas had said, grinning at the sight of the papers Siarl had promptly spread across the floor of his room. Siarl had replied dryly that this organisation had already survived one book, several academic papers and Micah-knew-how-many talks, so it would probably do for one more. The only reply had been a laugh at the strange phrase, half antiquated and half made-up, before he was left to it.

Siarl cursed his way through the pieces of paper, knowing that somewhere he had already made notes for what he said at this sort of things. Appropriate for children - lingering on what they wanted to hear about, whether or not the parents considering that wholly appropriate and gore-free - and without some of the historical details which he would usually go into when facing an adult audience. Finally he gave up, sat back on his heels, and examined the spray of paper across the floor. Some of the notes and pieces of writing were five or ten years old; others, far older. Probably a few dating back to the books years, come to think of it. He ran his hand over them again, then started to sort them back into the pules that they had started off in before stacking them neatly against the wall.

Then, of course, he found what he had been looking for all along. He laughed, swore good-naturedly to himself, then put them above the rest. One thing that you had to say about Selern was that he did not waste time, or even allow it for about the most extreme form of jetlag that space had to offer. What, you weren't expecting to have to give a talk tomorrow? Whoops. Hope that you've got some notes prepared already. Frankly, it was difficult to find the situation anything other than ironic when all that you really wanted to do was get some bloody sleep.

Everyone has to have something that they're aiming for. For most people, it's a case of fitting in as much as possible before they die - career, family, more and more and more until they forget to think why they want something and concentrate on trying to get it instead. Once that pressure of death was over, though, it seemed that there was something to encourage retrospection. Introspection. Siarl had always been tilted towards preferring that sort of behaviour, if truth be told, as he had seemed over and over again to lose everything and have to start again. So after a while he'd got used to considering what it was that he really wanted. Then again, here he was pushing one hundred and ninety years and still wondering. Spread the word of Micah Regal, try to make people remember; it seemed like a good enough way to pass the time, just as it had done for the last more-years-than-he-wanted-to-admit-to.

After all, whenever trouble turned up again he seemed to be able to find it.








_____For the road that we walk
has more miles left to talk,
_____Stories on and on we go,
into the great wide open.

[Micah Regal]

- Murs, Mizuaria -

- Senate Building, 16:32 Local Time -

Sixty senators sat encircling a board of four men, all dressed in elaborate costumes. Each one faced one direction, north, south, east, and west, their gaze never leaving the fifteen senators they were in charge of watching. Each man was aged, probably in their sixties and seventies and didn't blink once, such tight tensions forming between planets meant that anything could happen in the blink of an eye. Besides the four elderly men keeping order, thirty armed Mizuarian soldiers kept a constant guard, and a finger on their triggers. But they were watching those who opposed their planet's policies the closest. This was Mizuaria, and Mizuarian law was king here. An elderly senator stood up slowly, from the Avlen Prime booth, looking down at his monitor screen momentarily, then nodded to a woman sitting to his right who smiled back at him. Hello my friends, it's funny to see so many young men standing around me, I do believe that the only people here that can really match me in age are the four gentlemen seated on the ground. There was a little bit of laughter and the elderly senator smiled. Well, I'm glad to see we can all agree and laugh on something, but now to the heart of the matter... The elderly man walked down the stairs and took out his monitor.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe that it's common knowledge that the human race originated on the planet Earth, and before the Unification of the Nations after a Third World War, the Nations would constantly fight with one another. But there is something a lot of us have overlooked. The man looked down on a sliver of paper with a few words written on it. Great Britian, China, Spain, Ancient Rome, Russia, and the United States of America. These are all nations of old Earth that had the status of either world domination, or being a feared world power. But all of these nations and empires are all linked in one way or another, can anyone tell me how? Silence fell across the entire senate, all eyes being fixated onto the elderly senator from the arctic world. All of these nations fought Civil Wars against each other, countrymen killing countrymen, brothers taking arms against brothers all over pressing arguments, some even affecting society today in the twenty-seventh century. The man spoke with charisma, with strength, and looking as if he was on the verge of tears. And this is when we all have to as ourselves a question... The elderly man sighed, and looked into the eyes of the Narusharaian Senator. What makes the Terran Empire no different, if this little "debate" lasts any longer, the consequences could be dire. If we go to war with one another, I only have a few words for everyone. Mark these words... The man set his monitor down and sighed. We better watch our backs.

Silence fell across the senate while others began to look at one another, some even confused on what the old senator from Avlen Prime even said. The man simply sat down and waited for someone to answer him. Silence was finally broken by a senator from Zonessia. This is what you don't realize old man, the Kill option is going to prevent another Zeloan War from happening. Others nodded in agreement, but a female senator from Earth stood up, with anger in her eyes.

So what does that mean? That we'll be playing the role of the Zeloans to other possible friendly and intelligent races? I thought all were entitled to life. Supporters of Diplomacy and supporters of the "Kill option" began to take sides and bicker with one another. Thus the thin line between an argument and chaos began to stretch even further. This universe is as larger than any of us can imagine, and if we can ally ourselves with other intelligent races like we have done with the Jannins, we could easily thwart any threat that endangered us. If we're so scared of another war, why don't we get enough allies to prevent an attack? Sounds reasonable in my eyes, not too sure about you.

The Zonessian senator chuckled and shook his head and lit a cigar. After taking a puff he looked at his opponent from across the senate hall. So I take it that if we just pull a Micah Regal and go searching for answers, searching for allies while others are just waiting for the opportune time to wipe us off of the universe completely, I honestly don't think just talking things through will build alliances, they'll want something in return, if there is something all races have in common its greed.

The tide of the argument swayed more than a tree in a Narusharaian wind storm, but the woman smiled and simply gazed back at the Zonessian Senator. "Sometimes the only way we can make and maintain peace is by sacrificing some of the things we love the most." The senate fell silent, waiting for the Zonessian senator to respond, but he was completely speechless. That's a quote from Micah Regal himself, looks like you need to study who you quote before you mention the mans name.

[Artwra]

Soul soldier with your gun held high,_____
where does the crow fly?
Soul soldier with your gun held high,_____
will you follow it home?

Computing location...
Date: 5th October 2649
France, Earth, Astral Sector



"Remind me again why I do this."

"Because you firmly believe that people ought to know about Micah Regal and his work."

"Good answer." Siarl adjusted the left side of his jacket so that the holster beneath it wasn't visible. He was always a bit woolly about the rules, but was fairly certain that false papers made no friends when you were carrying weapons around. Wearing the leather jacket was better than the monkey suit that he'd tried on one or two occasions, but there were some people who just weren't meant to wear a shirt and tie and he had to be one of them. It had looked like a bad joke. "Now, if you'll just let me get blind drunk before I have to go out there and talk again..."

"Don't you dare! I had enough difficulty explaining the first time that you did that!"

He gave Selern a withering look. "Sometimes, you know, you take me far too seriously. And I've told you never to take what I say seriously. I sure as hell can't," said Siarl, but then again who could after this long? Usually by the time that people were middle-aged, they started to see the funny side of their own existence, and Siarl had been approaching that point around the time that Micah Regal had actually been around. One hundred and fifty years had only increased that effect. It didn't mean that somewhere beneath the jokes there wasn't still an edge of steel, but it was more deeply buried than before and most of the adoptive family that had grown up over the last eighty years or so hadn't seen it. Even those who disapproved of him thought of him as fairly harmless. "Right, off you go. You've heard this who shpiel a couple of dozen times before."

Selern tried to look pious. "Oh, but who wouldn't want to hear the same talk over and over again?"

"Oh, shut up. I've got to give this talk four times in the next seven days, thanks to you, and I'm still spacelagged. Count yourself lucky if I don't get everyone muddled up." That hadn't happened yet, he had to admit. He'd even managed to keep Micah's enemies in the right order, something which was quite impressive; even if time dulled some things, it seemed to make others all the more distinct. Selern laughed all the same though, then ducked out of the back door and left. Siarl turned, hit his head against the wall twice, then glanced over his notes to make sure that he hadn't written anything stupid (the answer: nothing that he could see easily, at least) before walking back out into the room.

He was late. Well, he was never quite late, but he was never early enough to be there before the room was already crowded. Some of them, he could see already, were regulars - the sort of people who turned up to every speech that Siarl gave even though he didn't manage to add anything much new into any of them. Then again, he never could remember what he'd said from one talk to the next so there probably were interesting things coming up each time. Like the one time that he'd got somebody's... it might have been Lela's... false name wrong and had made up one entirely on the spot. That was the first time that he'd realised he had people following him around from one to another. A few weeks, maybe a couple of months, giving talks, and then he'd be off again into space for another couple of years. That was all that he'd done for a while now, really since he'd gone back to speak to Mimi that one last time, and he was surprised that there were these people in their twenties and thirties still following him about. Maybe Micah could still strike a chord with the people of today.

He scanned the crowd for a moment as he sat down, feeling the start of the silence which had to be anticipation. Plenty of first-timers, a few regulars... there was bound to be someone who'd come up with some sort of awkward question. No sooner had he actually managed to make contact with the seat than one of the crowd came up to him with a copy of his book. Oh, dear. Ninety-year-old book, and him still able to pass for his thirties. Same name and all.

"Um... was... this, like, your grandfather or something?" she said. Blonde hair, nervous expression, bracelet round her wrist with M-i-c-a-h-R-e-g-a-l spelt out across the beads. Siarl just nodded; the 'something' was right after all. Her face split into a wide smile and she flicked it open to the front page. There was a dusty old signature across it. "My grandmother got it signed when she was young. Said that you were the spitting image of him. Would you, erm, like, sign it for me as well?"

"Yes, of course," he replied. Thank god that he had changed his signature every so often over the years, or it would have looked particularly strange. Common sense would have meant changing the name as well, but he hadn't quite managed to think that far ahead and now he was stuck with it. Reinventing yourself as your own grandson had to be a new one though. The only good thing that he could say about it was that no-one was going to be daft enough to challenge him over it. 'Hey, you're not that guy's grandson! You are that guy, ninety years on!' No, he couldn't really see it happening. The girl grinned widely, thanked him all over again, and disappeared back off into the crowd. Siarl adjusted his jacket again - he'd gone to take if off, then remembered that introducing a gun into the mix would be a prime bad idea - and looked round, only to find his eyes settled on one of the people at the back of the room.

His brow furrowed into a frown as his eyes fixed onto her; still she returned his gaze. She was pale, dark-haired, eyes simply piercing from this distance, but what had caught his attention was the way that she stood. As if she was to attention on a battlefield, a soldier plucked from the ranks to stand in front of the others and therefore trying to make herself seem better than then. There was something aloof there, but not arrogant: she seemed almost uncomfortable among the milling, chattering crowd. If all else failed in this room, then people tended to start swapping stories about Micah. Siarl dragged his gaze away as she seemed to try and bore into him with her gaze, looking at his watch and then realising that there was someone on the other side of him now instead. Just some question about... well, about something, he was sure. He had to ask for it to be repeated before he could answer: yes, that story about Dha was real, and not just an attempt to sell more books.

And, er, no, he wasn't going to try and get it illustrated.








_____For the road that we walk
has more miles left to talk,
_____Stories on and on we go,
into the great wide open.

[treasured one]

I may be small, but...

She heard him say something, but as her head was inside a cupboard shifting pots and pans around looking for a certain one, Lela couldn't really understand him. The bacon and hash browns were already cooking, but she was waiting for Atheniel to get back before starting the eggs. They didn't take as long as the bacon and she didn't want them to get overcooked. She spotted the pan she was looking for, and after a bit of working, managed to wrench it out of the bottom of the cupboard. Placing it on the stove, she chuckled. "I really should reorganize this kitchen." She said, turning the heat on beneath the new pan. But, for some reason, the disorganization of the kitchen never bothered her as much as disorganization in general. She looked at it in a kind of 'everywhere else is perfectly organized, so the kitchen can be an escape from that' way, and it worked out quite well. While that was heating up, she heard Ath in the dining room and grabbed the two pieces of bread that were sitting on a plate, put them in the toaster, and stuck her head into the dining room. She saw the magazine on the table and him talking to Gwen. "If you feed her too much, she'll get fat." She said with a smile on her face. "And I know you don't want that. Pardon the rhyme."

At the sound of the toaster popping, she returned to the kitchen, grabbed the two pieces of golden-brown toast on the same plate they had been on, and then got two eggs from the fridge. The pan she'd wrestled out of the cupboard was good and hot now, so when she cracked the eggs onto it, they hissed and spit and began to cook. She turned the potatoes off, got the bacon off it's pan so it didn't burn, then flipped the eggs. Another grin spread across her face as she thought about how awful a cook she used to be and how nineteen years of cooking for two had changed her ability to cook in amazing ways. When the eggs were finished cooking she divided everything in half and put it on two plates. When she stopped moving things she heard him get up and walk out of the dining room, and after wondering where he was going, forgot what she had been about to get. A moment later, the same time that Atheniel walked back into the room, she remembered. "Orange juice!" She said, rather loudly, then turned back to the fridge and got it out.

Sticking her head into the dining room again found her eyes seeing a much different sight. Atheniel didn't exactly look happy and he was holding his monitor. "What's on the news that makes you look like that?" She asked, but before he could say anything, she remembered the food and turned back to the kitchen counter where it was getting cold. She picked up the plate of toast and the pitcher of orange juice and walked out into the dining room, placing them on the table, then returning to the kitchen for the two plates and silverware. Lela walked back out into the dining room and put Atheniel's plate down at the seat where he was sitting, then hers down, then stood staring at the table, suddenly feeling like she forgot something. "Hmm... what am I miss - cups." She realized, then turned once again back to the kitchen. Returning to the table this time with two cups, she sat down and looked at him. "Go wash your hands before you eat, and hurry 'cause it's going to get cold." She rolled her eyes at him, but something about the way he looked right then, reminded her of Micah.

She poured orange juice into both glasses, and seriously had to resist telling him how much he looked like his dad. A grin spread on her face again as she thought about the pandemonium that would ensue from saying something like that to him. Nineteen years of unanswered and ignored questions about his parents, only to have her turn around and say something like that. Oh, that would be hysterical.

"So," she questioned after taking a drink of orange juice, "I walked away before you answered my question - what's on the news that makes you sigh and look so glum?"

...I am mighty.