Sabbatical

[Mr. Barret]

((This tale is some history for my character, Fafnir Varanus. His bio is not posted right now, but will be soon.

This was written for an English assignment actually. (good stuff when you can write stuff for Blackstar for your school classes!)

And I think that's really all the explanation this requires, so I'll just go on with the story))

[align=center:1ecf74cd11]Sabbatical[/align:1ecf74cd11]

Rain beat a tattoo upon the dry earth. A similarly repeating pattern echoed the drops with a metallic clank and knock of wood. The rhythmic rattle was regularly interrupted by periods of silence or bursts of even louder rattles and booms. This uncharacteristic cacophony had chased away the pair of fowl that normally nested in the alcove above the shop. The neighborhood cats were not appreciating the racket either, and stalked by stiffly whenever their paths forced them to pass by the noise.

During a pause in the current of clatter, a deep voice was heard reverberating around the walls of the shop. “I’ve made up my mind, Father, and like I’ve told you, I will be back.” An even deeper tone answered it, “But why leave at all, Fafnir? I can’t understand why you would abandon everything you’ve accomplished here.”

The obscuring sheets of driving rain slackened for a second and the two figures inside the building were fleetingly visible. One was standing near the entrance with arms folded and a sense of disapproval etched into its very stance. The other was the genesis of the ruckus and could be seen as a silhouette moving back and fourth across the small room carrying various items and packing them away.

The moving figure paused in its motions and spoke, “My decision is made. You won’t dissuade me during my final days here.” There was a resolution to Fafnir’s tone, and a thin hint of irritation in the pitch of his voice.

The first figure unfolded its arms and a slight slump was seen in the angle of its shoulders. It was apparent that this argument had been going on for far longer than just today, and it would be over soon. “You never were one to back down, were you Faf?” the elder being commented ruefully, using a nickname that Fafnir Varanus had gained in his younger years.

The senior Varanus recalled times years before when it seemed like he had gone through this very same conversation with his stubborn son.

“No, Fafnir, you can’t stay up any later. It’s time for bed now.

“Yes, you have to go to school today. It will be nice outside this afternoon too.”

“Come on, son, you can do this, don’t give up now.”

With most difficulties it seemed like his son rebelled against him. And in each of these instances from Fafnir’s youth he was guided back onto the wiser path by the correction of his father. As Fafnir got older, each battle became harder and harder to win, and lately, Fafnir had been the victor in each successive disagreement.

Unknowingly bringing his father back to the present, Fafnir responded, “That’s right, and I’m not backing down this time either.” I need to explore a little before I set my roots back down here again. There are things to see, and I’ve seen too many of the same things too often.

“Well, since I can’t change your mind, I might as well help you get your shop packed away. No sense in letting all your equipment rot and rust away while you’re gone.”

[Mr. Barret]

The next day, at the market place, it wasn’t Fafnir’s father that was slowing down his departure. It was his own mind. While he had shown a determined face to his father yesterday, Fafnir had nagging doubts about his decision. Despite his misgivings, he continued with his plans to sell the majority of his crafting equipment to help finance his trip and save himself the storage fees. “Cheap tools! High quality crafting equipment!” Fafnir’s confident, booming voice belied the thoughts that nipped at the corners of his brain. He wouldn’t let his uncertainty show to his customers. “You won’t find better tongs around, not at that price, ma’am.” I’ve used those tongs daily in my workshop. Can I so easily let them go? “Thank you for your business, have a nice day.” Apparently I can. It was so easy to let his body go mechanically about the motions that he set it to without considering what he was doing. The fact that he allowed this to happen demonstrated his real state of mind, even though he pretended with himself that he was hesitant about leaving his comfortable city and familiar shop. Every person has second thoughts about any big decision that they make, and Fafnir was no exception to the rule. Throughout his day at the bazaar, Fafnir allowed his objecting mind to continue with its arguments and reasons for why he should stay. He knew that while he was still unsteady in his mind, he would eventually follow through with the plan that he had originally concocted.

The longer the day went on, the firmer his resolution became. Near the beginning of the day his thoughts revolved around his reluctance to leave. My father gave me that hammer, and now I’m selling it to some man who’s name I don’t even know. By the time he sold his last tool his outlook had taken a different turn. Ahh, it’s good to be rid of that rusty old clamp. It will be so nice to start over with fresh equipment when I open my shop again. “Thank you, sir, have a nice evening.”

[Mr. Barret]

The sky shone like a sheet of ice, and the morning air was crisp and cool. It was the middle of the third month of Fafnir’s pilgrimage, and he was looking forward to reaching another populated area that wasn’t wilderness or open plains or dense, impenetrable forest. He knew that he was about fifty miles outside the border of Zaibach and anticipated reaching the heart of the city within several days.

Erasing the remnants of last night’s campsite, Fafnir packed up his equipment and prepared for another day’s walk through mostly uncharted wilderness. Rucksack over one shoulder and a chunk of last night’s roasted rabbit in the other hand for breakfast, Fafnir realigned himself, got his bearings and started the day’s march.

The months of travel had made their mark on Fafnir’s appearance. His previous build had sported thick, knotted muscles from his black smithing occupation swathed over with a generous layer of flesh that accumulated from being a successful businessman with a penchant for fine food in large quantities. His new physique had shed all of those extra pounds and revealed lean, defined muscles unburdened of sloppy blubber. It was a good feeling to have changed his slightly slothful habits, and traded them in for healthy alternatives, coupled with the sheer necessity for the exertion in order to attain shelter every night.

Today, Fafnir’s path of travel carried him through a large forest with a thin population of trees. It wasn’t difficult walking, but the fact that it was a forest made long distance visibility impossible. It was this lack of sight that caused Fafnir to be surprised when he nearly walked into a small lean-to as he came into a sudden break in the trees. The shoddy construction was obviously temporary, but seemed to have been there a while, as evidenced by the remains of campfires. Cautiously approaching the ramshackle shelter, Fafnir shuffled down into a motion-ready stance, not knowing whether he would have to fight or flee.

Balled fists and tensed muscles relaxed a little bit as a scruffy, grease covered man poked his head out from the entrance of his hovel. “Hallo there, how are you?” came the greeting from the man from underneath his large bushy mustache. He had a slightly high pitched voice, and spoke with an excited speed to his speech, as if he always had so much to say and not enough time to say it in and couldn’t possibly spend time enunciating his words. By contrast, Fafnir’s salutation was deep, with a moderate speed, and a heavy amount of formality. “Greetings.” After all, these two people knew nothing about each other. There was no reason to be so familiar quite yet.

When the man stepped all of the way out of his shelter, Fafnir got a good look at exactly the kind of figure that he was dealing with. The man was short, with a stocky build, and somehow looked like a stereotypical mechanic. It might have been the overalls, or the goggles, or the bushy blonde hair that stuck out at odd angles and was spattered over with grease smudges. Something, most likely the specific combination of all of these elements, gave the man the air of a grease monkey.

Wasting no time at all, the man launched into a very specific and very unusual tirade. “Hey, whoa, what do you know? You look like just the kind of guy I’m looking for. Uh huh! And you know what? Yeah, you could probably help me out a lot,” the little man paused, and pondered, for about half a second, “Not specifically you and only you, but someone like you. You probably want to know what I’m talking about, right? Well, I don’t know how I know, but you just have the look of a mechanic about you, or someone who knows their way around a workshop. Yup! It must be the thick smell of sweat and dirt about you.” At this point Fafnir’s eyes took a vacant look and he tested the air to see if he really did stink as the man implied. The man must have noticed this and quickly reassured him, “Oh, no no no, I don’t mean you reek, I mean there’s something about you that just tells me that you know your way around hard labor and aren’t afraid of applying a little elbow grease, and, oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter. Just know that I know that you know your way around a shop and that I know that you can help me out here. At least, probably.” At this point, any other person would have stopped to suck in a large lung full of air after such a speech on seemingly only one breath, but the technician just paused a moment and almost let Fafnir get a word in when he continued speaking. “Come, come, come. Come on in. We have people to do and things to see. Many things to do.” He turned on the heel of his work boot and disappeared inside the shack.

[Mr. Barret]

As one might expect, Fafnir was a little bewildered by the spectacle that he had just witnessed and stood there, floored. The yellow, bristling head of the mechanic quickly emerged and hailed, “What are you waiting for? Come in,” and just as quickly popped itself back inside. Fafnir soon regained a modicum of his motor skills and propelled himself inside after the busy little beaver of an engineer.

Once his eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior, Fafnir felt like he was back in his shop that he’d left back in Freid. Almost. The difference here was the amount of disorder that the man allowed with his tools and equipment. As the man leaned over a mess of sprockets and connectors, his speedy little mouth began to move again. “By the way, my name’s Boris, Boris Flak. I never did introduce myself, did I? And what do you call yourself?” This time, Boris actually paused and let Fafnir get a word in before launching off again. “Fafnir Varanus,” was the answer, and to forestall any further deviations from the point, he added, “What are you doing?”

“Well, you see,” Boris began, “I had a little mishap with this little device over here,” he commented, pointing at another pile of disassembled metal and parts. “I was traveling – doing a little exploration – when I arrived here. I crash landed a little hard and broke my generator. With no generator, no travel, and with no travel, no getting back home. You see my dilemma, you see?” The energetic little tinkerer came to a full stop and focused his gaze on Fafnir, with a slight tilt to his round face.

“Actually, I don’t understand entirely, but I understand enough. Let me help you with your repairs, and you can explain again as we work.” Fafnir wasn’t quite sure what this man meant when he said generator, and what that thing had to do with getting home. He also had a haunting suspicion that “home” meant a little something different to this excitable little man than it did to Fafnir. He was curious enough though, that he wanted to work on whatever overhaul this guy was planning, just to see what kind of device it was originally supposed to be. That, and this was a good excuse to freshen up some of his slowly rusting manual skills that hadn’t been utilized much on his journey so far.

The stout little fellow was ecstatic. “Wonderful, wonderful, excellent. Let us get to work right away.” He turned his rotund body around and began diving back into his work. “If you could just find me a 376 Sprocket Z we could get this Molecular Reconfiguration Splicer up and running and then we’ll be well on our way.”

[Mr. Barret]

It was a lot of work and more frustration, and it took far longer than either of them imagined, but finally, after about a week, the Warp Portal Generator was finally back up and running. The strange thing was, even though he’d become quite familiar with a lot of its internal parts, Fafnir still didn’t quite know what this thing did. But he was about to find out.

“Today’s the day isn’t it, Fafnir? Yup, Yup, I think we’ve finally tightened the bolts and inserted tab 67 into the correct slot Z45. Now all we have to do is pull this little knob here, and away we should go.”

Boris leaned over, gripped the starter switch tightly, and flicked it with a flair of melodramatic theatrics. The machine coughed, whirred, buzzed, and made a couple of sounds that didn’t sound like anything else that Fafnir had ever heard before. Finally, after what he understood to be the warm up phase, it stopped making sounds, and sat there, status lights all showing green, just waiting.

“Well, Fafnir, I guess this is goodbye, isn’t it?” The little mechanic had a mist in his eye. His sentiment was short lived though, and he quickly hopped back to his normal enthusiasm. “I never was one for long goodbyes I suppose, so away I will go.” Boris pressed an innocuous little button and a blinding, bright light erupted from the top of the machine and materialized into a pulsing, glowing blue oval. All sounded healthy, and the portal was holding steady, when the Generator gave an innocent little hiccup. Then all hell broke loose.

The machine began to hop up and down, banging and clunking in a most unnerving fashion. The portal destabilized and wobbled into a strange amorphous blob. During the gyrations and erratic movements of the machine, the portal swung around swept up all of the occupants of the clearing: luggage, people, and all. Then, the Generator itself was swallowed up by the blue void and sucked away to oblivion. The elapsed time for the possessed motions of the machine was mere seconds. Neither Boris nor Fafnir had any time to react at all before they were devoured by the uncontrollable apparatus. With the exit of the machine, the glade again was silent.

((the assumption is that they are actually both sucked back to the Dojo, as those would be the coordinates that Boris would have set the machine for. I say this just to make this obvious for our more dense readers out there. I wanted to leave it up in the air as the end of my english assignment, but that was because I didn't want to go into the whole history and such about Blackstar, so I just didn't mention it.))