Subj:	 [ffml] [HD] Hillion Dynasty
Date:	00-12-29 20:11:11 EST
From:	darklord@compusmart.ab.ca (His Dark Lordship)
Reply-to:	ffml@egroups.com
To:	ffml@egroups.com (ffml)

A small keep on the outer ridges of Baron...

The moon shone brightly on the sullen pond. The pond wimpered silently in
the shadow of the keep.

The keep moaned softly at the noise of it's keeper.

Aracalen, the noble of the house, mused over an old tome whilst his guest
stared out the window.

"Why, my lord, must you live with your nose in texts that are older than my
grandmother was when she died?" he snarled.

Aracalen chuckled.

"The past holds the keys to the future, Kefka, and if you ever seek to be a
contender for the future, you must understand the past."

"I am the past." snapped Kefka. "I was old when the Moogles were young, and
yet you lecture me about the past."

"Had you not spent such great years lying dormant, hiding from those that
would humble you, perhaps I would be more considerate. As it is, my
knowledge of your exploits alone caused me to seek you out. You have
potential, Kefka."

"Oh, how wonderful." said Kefka in a mocking tone. "I have potential. I
could lay waste to the world again. Blah blah blah. I have no penis..."
Kefka laughed suddenly.

Aracalen sighed.

"Mock as you will. In my books lie the immesurable knowledge that will
place
us in the history books forever."

"Place us in the history books!" spat Kefka. "Oh, look, someday down the
line, some crackhead like you will pop open a book and discover that we
ruled the world once."

He then grinned.

"Ruling the world is nothing. I want to be God."

Aracalen chuckled.

"And you can, my friend. I have in this study infomation that will send us
soaring to the heavens and beyond. With my knowledge and your lack of
humanity, we can go beyond the highest of the high."

"You're wannabe poeticness is almost as pathetic as your obsession with
books." commented Kefka. "Just tell me what to do, and we'll do it."

"It isn't that simple." frowned Aracalen. "You see, the spot we would need
to find on the first leg of our incredible journey has been off the world's
globe for the past twelve hundred years. Even then, it was partially under
water."

"What? Like that's supposed to stop us?" groaned Kefka. "Come on, you know
me to be overlly resourceful."

"I've financed expeditions to it's so called resting point. It isn't there
anymore."

"Just what the hell is it you were trying to find, anyway?" asked Kefka,
almost sounding interested.

"It is a mountain where great beings gather to absorb the universe's power.
Crystal Peak, it is known as."

Kefka spat again.

"Oh, so an entire mountain eroded away since I died. I don't think so, your
men are just blind as a bat shoved up a Moogle's ass."

Aracalen sighed.

"I wish you would quit making remarks like that about Moogles. Many of them
are still bitter for the harsh treatment they've recieved over the
centuries."

Kefka laughed.

"Harsh treatment my ass. And most of them are like you, not really knowing
what the hell happened but claiming to be an expert on the subject anyway.
Now, why the hell are we looking for this magically disapearing mountain?
What is there that can serve us?"

"Have you ever heard of the great Dasgot?"

Kefka shrugged.

"Never cared enough to think about it. Why?"

"That was the last known resting spot of his tomb, though it has been known
to... move from time to time."

"A tomb that moves? Fuck, that sounds too much like something I'd do. I'm
starting to like this Dasgot already."

Aracalen chuckled.

"You would enjoy his company too. He was a fine example of a ruthless man."

"Alright, you have me intrigued. Why do we have to rob his tomb?"

"There is something of great interest to me in that tomb. A piece of the
puzzle that shows us as Gods."

"Alright, so this tomb teleports occasionally. How would we be able to find
it?" asked Kefka.

Aracalen smiled. He then pointed to his books.

"My study has revealed that can find such infomation in a cavern known as
the 'Arsenal of the Gods.'"

"Oh gee. That's just great. We'll just buy a fucking plane ticket there
then."

Aracalen sighed.

"Yes, I know that's fairly sketchy, but the history of the land depicts it
as highly forested.

"Okay that narrows it down to just forests, which means we've still got a
lifetime of searching." Kefka sunk back.

Aracalen frowned.

"My books have revealed more to me, skeptic, should you be so willing as to
listen and open your mind."

"Open my mind? That's what some moogle used as a pickup line on me once."

"There you go with your anti-moogle comments again."

"Oh fuck off. If you deal with a guy who hasn't seen the light of day for
over twelve hundred years you should expect something like this, since
you're such a-" Kefka raised his hands into the air and drew quotation
marks with his fingers. "historian."

"Look, my studies have shown that the references made by battle reporters
have described the area the same thrice. Three different times a battle was
waged near the Arsenal of the Gods."

"Oh? And what battles were these?"

Aracalen grabbed a dusty tome from his shelf. He opened it up and flipped a
few dry pages.

"'Noted it was of the great mountain in the distance that resembled Pat
Buchanan, as Azala dodged the dragon's flame and thrust the black sword
into it's gut, slaying a third.'"

He then grabbed another tome, flipped it to a page, and read;

"'It was then that the small kingdom of Orlans, a loose nation of four
tribal villages, met it's end at the hands of the Moogles. The face of Pat
Buchanan almost winced, had it only not been stone.'"

He was about to grab a third book when Kefka stopped him.

"So, we have to find a mountain that looks like Pat Buchanan." concluded
Kefka.

Aracalen nodded.

"One other thing." noted Kefka. "It would seem logical that such a place
would be guarded fairly heavily, would it not?"

Aracalen smiled.

"We had a so called guardian, but he didn't really think so for himself,
and
eventually we had him killed."

"Excuse me?"

Aracalen suddenly started up.

"Enough talk. We must go."

Kefka shrugged.

* * * * * * * *

The fragrance of blood, sweat... ale.

These are the fragrances that filled my nostrils.

My companion, Kenaron, enjoying the exotic appeal a Moogle would have this
far north, drunk his brew happily.

Kenaron was an interesting chap. He prefered a traditional heavy crossbow
to
anything of the more modern appeal. Not that the modern appeal had anything
better to offer. He was a Moogle of about four foot five, and about seventy
eight pounds, as I could guess. I guess I was drawn to him by his sense of
adventure, his lust for the unknown, his eagerness to die in a glorified
way, something I had not seen in the hearts of men for awhile.

I, on the other hand, had been avoided. People call me Reptite. Of course,
this far north anything that has scales and talks is a Reptite. Few have
decent knowledge of the many fantastic races that populate this earth. I
have been in the travelling freebooter trade for many years. My former
partner, Ryas, unfortunately decided to attempt a job that put him in the
path of several crossbow bolts. That job was protecting a harlot that was
obviously allowing herself to be shared without the sharer's knowledge.

My name is Ladaku. I am a Lizar.

Lizar, as some would call it, are an ancient race of reptilian peoples.
Some
believe them myth, others claim they were present in the now legendary
Moogle Wars; Global conflicts that each in turn reshaped the world, perhaps
not for the better.

However, this was behind us, I always hope. Moogles and Humans now walk
together, hell, I've even seen interbreeding. There is only one race that
has never allowed the wounds of the wars to heal, but no one ever saw them,
anyway.

As I had said, I am a travelling freebooter by trade. Kenaron and I are
here
to spend our earnings. Here in Shadowbrooke, a town that in itself has a
history to rival any oppressed people.

Finally, the obvious riches I behold attracts some of the tavern maids. I
usher a wink to Kenaron as I am lead upstairs with my last bottle of rum.