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 Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga

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Pen&Paper
Wordsmith



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PostSubject: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 10, 2008 7:05 am

Chapter 1- The Girl Who Would Not Stop Staring

Maybe she liked him. That would explain the strange, knowing stare she kept giving in class, whenever no one was looking. That would also explain the thousand-watt smile when their eyes met, and why she did not seem interested in any other guy. She had behaved rather coolly to them, in fact. It was only he, of course.

Pierre allowed himself to daydream a bit more with regards to his own personal charm, before reluctantly snapping back to reality as Mrs. Hicks called him up to the chalkboard to answer some dumb math question he knew nothing about. He stood up awkwardly, carelessly stuffing his hands into the pockets of his oversized brown trousers. The girl was certainly not interested in him, she could not possibly be. He was a “nobody” in Autumn Middle School, not many friends, and even fewer enemies. He was not the most handsome in the class, neither was he a class clown or whatever. The new girl could not possibly know he existed.

She was called Jemima Spaceton. She spelled it out on the chalkboard on the first day, the green chalk matching precisely the colour of her eyes. They were an intense green, the sort that penetrated anything like a laser, even you. Her long slender fingers flew over the board as she wrote out the “S” in a wiggly fashion. Maybe it was more cursive than wiggly, but Pierre could not judge. His very own handwriting was not the neatest or the straightest, and his “g”s were often laughed at.

That was how you could describe Pierre, a completely normal failure. He was the kind that could never stand out in any way.

As Jemima continued with her “t”, her other hand absent-mindedly tossed her glossy black hair to the back. It was tied loosely in a ponytail, which only served to make her look prettier, somehow. He swore that even if she became bald, her curious charm would never fade.

Jemima retained a stony expression on her face always. It served to warn everyone against approaching her. Yet she never failed to give Pierre that heartwarming grin. So was all that coldness just a pretense? Why would she do that? And just where did she come from?

Louisiana was Mrs. Hicks’ reply to the class. Pierre did not believe one word of it. His uncle was from Louisiana, and the accents that they spoke with were completely different. Jemima did not have an obvious accent, but if one listened carefully on the rare occasions that she chose to speak, like Pierre did, one would detect a slight lilt in her speech, not any kind he had ever heard before. It sounded more…otherworldly than foreign. Jemima was apparently the only daughter of a prestigious family running a lucrative coal mining business and everyone was to take good care of her and show her around the school. No one volunteered, and she did not seem to need one anyway, as could be seen in the days to come.

She was a bright student and a year older than her classmates, Pierre found out. She did not make conversation with anyone, not even to him, but she beamed at him, and whenever he caught sight of her pearly white teeth glinting in the light, his heart would soften and his entire body would almost melt into the ground.

It was on the 6th of July, and she had been in the school for one week, when Pierre brashly decided to tail Jemima and find out where she resided. It came during a particularly boring math lesson, and he was deliriously imagining Jemima’s alluring gaze again. This should be the most foolish thing I’ve ever done and am ever going to do in my life, but I’ve got to find out more about her.

So after school on that day, he ran after Jemima ecstatically but stealthily out of the school compound. She was a brisk walker, and he had quite a bit of trouble keeping up with her even when running. He made a mental note to start keeping himself fit as he huffed and puffed and tried valiantly to keep his panting silent. With so much to take note of, he did not notice that both of them had left the busy town area and were heading down a stretch of lonely road, tall trees lining the sides and their leaves partially blocking out the sun to create a dim, mystical atmosphere.

Unbeknownst to Pierre, Jemima gave a cunning smile. He was bending down to tie a loose shoelace and when he stood up again, found himself quite alone, the road going on ahead, vast and desolate. Had he been discovered?

It was half an hour later that he stepped into the living room, dishevelled and downcast.

“Ah…I stayed behind in school to do my homework,” Pierre grinned sheepishly at his mother, who was crossing her masculine, hairy arms and demanding to know just where the heck he had been in the past half-hour.

“You never were a good liar, but I’ll let you off for now. You’re awfully sweaty and smelly, boy,” Mrs. Cartley wrinkled his nose and strode back to her bedroom. Pierre obediently trudged towards the bathroom, his face twisted in concentration. Should I continue this tomorrow?

Jemima isn’t an ordinary girl, I’m sure of it…

He still had not come to a decision the next day, but he did not need to. Jemima’s seat was empty throughout the day, and the day after that as well.

“I’ve tried phoning her home, but no one ever answers,” Mrs. Hicks grumbled when asked. The Spacetons seemed to have disappeared without a trace.

The incident was soon forgotten, though, for a much queerer thing had happened then. Ricardo Rice-Faven, Pierre heard, had found his parents dead when he had gotten home from school yesterday. Both were sprawled onto the sofa, their faces convulsed in pain or fear.

Doctors were unable to conclude the cause of death. Mr. and Mrs. Rice-Faven were just dreadfully pale, with tooth marks on their necks. A logical possibility would be snakes, but there had not been any prowling the region for nearly five decades. Investigations went underway. In the meantime, Ricardo, who had always struck Pierre as being a nerdy, shy guy, walked the streets like a living ghost.

Pierre had a dream that night. He dreamed that Jemima had witnessed a faceless man killing the Rice-Favens, and so was nabbed and silenced. She was found dead a few hours later under Pierre’s bed.

He woke up feeling quite shaken the next day. His imagination went into overdrive. He must ensure that Jemima was safe. After school, he returned to the road where he had shadowed Jemima unsuccessfully the other day. He would find her and set his mind at rest. Or not. He trembled involuntarily.

The road was very much the same as before. Pierre walked down slowly, looking out for signs of a struggle, or anything. He noticed a movement behind an oak tree, and sprinted towards it. There was Jemima! She was peering into a mirror-like object, the really old kind Pierre's father had in his bedroom that revealed a person from tip to toe and made Pierre look fat, for some reason. Maybe it was the shock that did it, but all Pierre could think of was what she was doing with such a very olden object. It just did not suit her. Her wavy hair was let down now, and even then, Pierre could not help but take a moment to steady his breathing. He saw that the mirror was not a mirror. There was no reflection. It just seemed to open into nothingness. It’s like a void.

Jemima turned around to face him, as if she had been expecting him. She broke into a beam, and said, “I knew you’d come to search for me, Pierre Cartley.” With that cryptic statement, she stepped calmly into the void.

As if hypnotised, Pierre marched in after her, and the void closed itself up, revealing no traces of its existence.


Last edited by Pen&Paper on Mon Jul 21, 2008 7:43 am; edited 4 times in total
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Wordsmith



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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 10, 2008 7:07 am

Yep, I know it doesn't reveal much yet, but I'm intending for this to be really long, so the first chapter can just set the main characters and the time period and I'll talk about the rest of the stuff later. All the chapters shall be in this thread, then when the novel's completed I shall move the chapters to the Final Copy.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 11, 2008 7:15 am

Urgh! I suddenly realised I forgot to italicise Pierre's thoughts! This is usually what happens when you copy-paste your work... Anyway, that error's corrected now.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeSun Jul 13, 2008 11:10 pm

I've done some minor edits. Next chapter should be coming up in 1-3 days' time.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 15, 2008 6:38 am

Chapter 2- His Purpose

He really was a very comical character, Jemima smiled inwardly as she looked unblinkingly at this young boy standing in front of her. It had been easy luring him to Lushenfurg- he was probably not needed much in his own world, the kind of normal, nice guy that people overlooked.

It was ironic, that his people did not know how much he mattered to them.

She must concede, though, that this Pierre Cartley was quite cute. He had a hazel shade of brown for his hair, freckles littering his oval face, and ocean blue eyes. His eyes gave him an intelligent appearance, as if he had seen much, known much. Which he had not. Then again, she could not be sure of it. For all she knew, this bumbling, clumsy exterior could be just a façade.

He was staring nervously around him now. They were standing in the middle of a dusty road in a sandy desert. Save for a few isolated trees, there was nothing else of note. The road seemed endless. There was no chattering sound of students, no cars hurtling across the road at breakneck speed or the smell of their exhaust. This was certainly different from the town Pierre would be used to. Jemima gave him some time to process his thoughts, chuckling slightly at his puzzled expression.

“W-where are we?” he muttered, his face turning very pale.

Jemima replied nonchalantly, “Oh, we’re just in a corner of Lushenfurg. I expect you learn about it in geography lesson. You know, an alternate dimension that mortals discovered centuries ago during World War I. Or even before that,” she paused, shrugging, “I don’t learn history.”

“Alternate dimension? This is bizarre. They don’t exist.”

“Well, I’ve no time debating with you about this,” she said impatiently, beginning to walk briskly down the road, “we’re going to meet a researcher later, and he’ll tell you everything about Lushenfurg, races and whatnot. In fact, we’re running late, and he loathes latecomers.” She left Pierre with no choice but to keep up with her, but his dazed expression told her that he had a million questions flooding his mind. She smiled. This was fun.

“Just what are you? And why did you bring me here? And what happened to Ricardo’s parents?” he tried asking them anyway, his hands absent-mindedly crawling down his thigh. Jemima had been walking with her maximum speed, which was deemed unnatural to people like him.

“I do hate talking when I walk, so I’ll answer these questions when I want to, alright?” she cried irritably, “I expect we’ll reach Rentwood Town at twilight, so we can take a rest there before proceeding on our journey, and I’ll explain everything to you then.” What a persistent fellow. She was sure that Pierre could tell that he was getting no more answers, as he obediently kept mum and concentrated on the task of matching Jemima’s speed, which she was positive was a Herculean one for him.

Twilight came with no one speaking another word. True to her promise, both of them had arrived at a tiny town with a Wild West theme. Residents clad in cowboy gear roamed the streets, talking and laughing. A peaceful town, Jemima called it. She produced an old leather purse and led Pierre into an inn named The Wandering Pony, asking the innkeeper to get them a room. The Wandering Pony was a place she had grown up with, back in the old days of her childhood. It had undergone much reform and was no longer the little brick building she knew best, but she liked the modern-looking exterior now. It had walls painted a bright shade of blue, triangular windows and it was certainly much wider than before. She savoured the shocked look on Pierre’s face for a long time afterward. In his town, teenagers of differing genders seldom rented a room to stay in together for the night. Taking out a big golden talisman, she paid the innkeeper and led Pierre upstairs to their room. Pierre had his eyes tight shut and was touching his forehead weakly.

When he opened them again, Jemima was sitting on a bed, brushing her hair in a bored manner. “You want to know stuff, don’t you?” she muttered, “I’m bored enough now to actually want to tell you, so fire away.” The time has come…

Pierre grabbed in a chair, looking annoyed (but very cute still), and began his first question, “Er…who are you? I know you’re not an ordinary person, you can’t be.”

Jemima chortled, “You should define that word, you know. I fit in perfectly in Lushenfurg. But I like self-introductions, so here goes…my name’s Jemima Spaceton, but do call me Jem, or Jemmy or Mime or whatever. I tend to prefer the first option, but I have people calling me Jemma, and it’s urgh. You get my meaning?” Of course Pierre did not, so she continued, “I’m sixteen years old and am a member of the Spiral Ring. It’s the name of a political organization, which aims to overthrow the current government, which is a corrupt and disdainful bunch of losers, just so you know. I think that’s all you need to know about me.” There was more to the Spiral Ring than she had let on, but Jemima did not see the need to tell him so much yet.

“I know your next question is about how you fit into all this, right? Don’t worry, the Spiral Ring wouldn’t want you even if you offered yourself. And trust me, getting you here was a last resort. We just can’t stop the Mage Council, however hard we try. The Mage Council is a group of mages- a particular race of Man that dabbles in magic- who feels that they are the superior race and all other races, including mortals- the “ordinary” humans that you mean- should be secondary. What’s worse, they’ve recently discovered a way to enter your world, so that they can conquer your land and create a bigger, mage-centred Lushenfurg. Now don’t interrupt, I know you’re thinking about my void. You see, the Spiral Ring has been the only association that knows and guards the secret to the void fiercely. But somehow, a spy let out the secret to the mages, and they’re using it with totally wrong motives. To stop this cataclysm, we need the diary of Joel Jupiter. He was a mortal who lived many years ago, and a hero who did something. I don’t know what heroic feat it was, but the fact remains that his diary contains mystical powers that may curb all evil. Nobody knows if it’s true, but we can only cling on to this hope. They also say that only a descendant of Joel Jupiter can open this diary.”

Pierre had been silent all this while, looking enjoyably stupid in Jemima’s opinion. At that point, though, he suddenly perked up and remarked, “So you mean…”

“…Nothing,” Jemima murmured flatly, “Joel Jupiter left no descendant. However, he lived for a short period of time in your world, and was close friends with Nigel Cartley, your grandfather. We’re hoping against hope that somehow you’ve a little of the Jupiter magic in your veins. It’s unlikely, but there it is.” She sighed. The journey ahead sounded pointless, now that she said it this way, and it might just be all for nothing.

“Go to sleep now, I’ve told you too much in a day. We’re rushing at dawn to Donn Forest to meet Abraham, our researcher. He’s really knowledgeable, but dreadfully old. He’s fifty, I think.” She yawned and drew the fluffy quilt to her chin. She loved the snug bedding of the Wandering Pony inn.

“Fifty isn’t that old,” Pierre pointed out and switched off the lights. It was just then that he remembered something, and blurted out, “Jem… what happened to the Rice-Favens?”

Jemima beamed, her face shrouded in darkness. She wondered how Pierre was going to take this.

“Have I ever told you that I’m a vampire?”

Dead silence ensued in the room after that.


Last edited by Pen&Paper on Tue Jul 22, 2008 7:10 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 15, 2008 6:40 am

Yes, chapter numero dos is out. It's more informative than anything else, I agree. I tried not writing in Pierre's perspective this time.


Last edited by Pen&Paper on Mon Jul 21, 2008 7:44 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeMon Jul 21, 2008 7:44 am

I've made my second round of edits to Chapter 1. Chapter 3 is coming out before Friday, I hope.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 22, 2008 7:11 am

I've made some edits to Chapter 2 as well. Unfortunately, I think I can only put up Chapter 3 on Friday. Urgh.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 24, 2008 9:25 am

Chapter 3- Product of Magic

“How funny. You were bursting with questions yesterday and being so awfully maddening, but today you’re so quiet you could be mistaken for a statue,” joked Jemima, as both Pierre and herself took a seat at the lively breakfast room of the Wandering Pony inn, their plates filled with the “town’s specialties” of food items whose names Pierre could only hazard a guess at. He poked at a tough piece of ham that had an uncomfortable blue colour with his fork and sighed. If he were at home now, Mrs. Cartley would be whipping up a scrumptious, and presentable, meal of century egg porridge with milk, soft-boiled eggs and jelly sandwiches. He consoled himself by noting that Jemima had not touched a morsel of her food either.

“But why am I complaining?” she continued musing, and took an exceptionally large bite of the disturbing ham. Noticing that Pierre was pushing his plate away, she added, “You’re going to need all this energy. We may be missing lunch today.”

Pierre shrugged and obediently took a nibble. It was true that he had not felt like speaking much, after that shocking revelation by Jemima. He had naturally not slept well either, and had woken up quite a wreck the next day. He was traveling with a vampire. It was scarier that this vampire showed none of the telltale signs- pale skin, sharp teeth, slit-like eyes or whatever- but was instead smiling cheekily at him now like any other teenage girl. He looked around the room. Every table was occupied by travelers of all ages, wearing strange clothes, but nevertheless appearing quite human. What if all of them were vampires too?

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the idea of vampires after a while,” Jemima said nonchalantly, “once you see that there are many more things in this world to be feared, more than just another race.”

How did she know what I was thinking?

“You weren’t precisely hiding your emotions,” Jemima’s reply startled him again, “the chattering teeth, knocking knees and clenched fists kinda gave you away.”

Pierre blushed. He was acting more and more like a clown to Jemima, he was sure of that. Once I get the hang of this place, I shan’t make a fool of myself. He decided that keeping mum was not going to help him with that.

“So when you say races, you don’t mean elves, gnomes and dwarves like I read in books?” he asked, trying to sound smart. Jemima nodded, and replied, “Yeah, all our races here are just variations of Man over the years, like vampires. And mages. Mages are a race in itself.” They stepped out of the inn into the brilliant sunshine, and Pierre noticed that Jemima was picking up speed again, out of the noisy Rentwood Town which Pierre looked back at with a tinge of regret, down the stretch of quiet road again, only this time there was more vegetation at the sides of the road instead of the previous desert terrain. The transition was sudden to him.

For some reason, the dissatisfied feeling in his stomach ensued as they walked, and he could not stop thinking about how he used to take his breakfast for granted. In fact, come to think of it, he had taken many things for granted. Now that his toothbrush, soap and wardrobe, among other items, were not with him, his future appeared gloomy.

"I don't even have my diary anymore, just when I need it the most to clear all these confusing thoughts," he mumbled aloud.

He heard a faint giggle from Jemima in front of him. "I stopped writing in my diary when I was seven, for goodness' sakes! You're really childish! Do you want me to tuck you in when you sleep too?" She burst into a rude guffaw, wiping away the tears that had fallen from her eyes.

"I started writing a diary at nine years of age, for goodness' sakes!" Pierre retorted. When he was seven, he had been a lively, energetic boy, with certainly no time and patience to engage in something as boring as writing about his day.

"People on Earth do mature slowly," mocked Jemima, "why, when I was nine I had already left school."

"Huh? Why?" Pierre was taken aback. It did not strike him that Jemima was the kind that dropped out of school at such a young age.

"No reason," muttered Jemima, clearly wishing to end the conversation, so Pierre reluctantly stopped pursuing the matter.

They had been walking for a rather long time, and covered an extraordinarily large ground as proven by Pierre’s aching legs, when Jemima suddenly stiffened and stopped short so suddenly that Pierre nearly ran into her. She shot him a warning stare and whispered urgently, “Hide behind that bush, quickly!”

She pointed at a mulberry bush at the side and Pierre swiftly squeezed himself among the tiny leaves to hide his comparatively huge, and still growing, bulk. Whatever Jemima had sensed, he did not want to meet it.

Jemima rushed over to join him seconds later, a nervous grin on her face. “It hasn’t seen us yet. It’s just patrolling the area under the Mage Council’s orders. It doesn’t even know what to look out for, anyway,” she mumbled.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Pierre peeped out of the bush, and soon saw what Jemima had meant. A floating balloon-like object was hovering dangerously close to them, yet it did not seem to know where to go or what to do. Pierre noticed that it had a tiny face, complete with features, but they were not moving, as if they had been made from clay and simply stuck onto the balloon, which resembled a runaway balloon broken off from its string, only ten times larger, and it was black instead of the fancy colours rubber balloons had.

“If it’s not looking for us, why are we hiding?” he found himself muttering tensely. Jemima did not need to answer. A toddler was wandering down the road at that moment, sniffling softly. He had obviously lost his parents. As he plodded slowly ahead, Pierre saw the balloon immediately swivel so that its face was turned towards the toddler, and before anybody could react, the mouth had opened just a crack, releasing some purple fumes, and the toddler was dead.

“That thing’s called a Harmony. What is it supposed to be in harmony with, I’ve no idea,” spat Jemima softly, her eyes dilating with rage, “It kills most people in its path, except for those it senses that are more powerful than it is. We’re sure the mages are creating them in great numbers, but we don’t know how. You stay here and don’t move,” she got up suddenly, shaking the paralysed Pierre out of his thoughts, “We can’t proceed if it doesn’t go away, and it seems stubbornly fixed to this spot.” Pierre had a sudden fear that she was going to distract the Harmony and make him go on alone or some such noble deed like that, but he caught sight of a glint in her teeth as she opened her mouth and grinned at him. Her teeth were gradually sharpening themselves, and her facial expression switched seamlessly from righteous anger to sadistic excitement. He knew at once what the dead Rice-Favens had felt on their last night. Just why did Jemima murder them? He still could not understand. He felt a chill run down his spine. He had now fully understood how dangerous Jemima could be.

She jumped noiselessly out of the bush and landed herself nimbly like an acrobat onto the Harmony’s body. Sinking her fangs ruthlessly into the Harmony’s head, she deflated the balloon and beamed cockily at Pierre, who would have clapped and cheered had he not been surrounded by many more of these Harmonies. “Er…help?” he murmured sheepishly instead.

Jemima was on them in a flash, deflating the nearest Harmony in her path, but just as she was extracting her fangs from the flat remains of her victim, another Harmony stole on her and exhaled its poisonous gas in the duo’s direction. Jemima grabbed a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it at Pierre’s nose, hissing furiously, “You moved, didn’t you? That’s why they came,” despite not having any S’s in her speech to produce hissing sounds with. Hissing was still the only word Pierre could use to describe the way she spoke then.

“Perhaps I just twitched a little,” his muffled voice escaped from the handkerchief, the guilt-ridden tone evident. He saw that Jemima was turning very blue in the face. She must have been holding her breath. He lowered his eyes apologetically. Jemima could not possibly attack while holding her breath. That was for sure. They were doomed, he knew, even if Jemima had not said it directly to his face.

Maybe I should close my eyes and pray. And he did. When he opened them again, it appeared as if his prayer had come true, for a wolf-like humanoid with a monstrous face, according to his vivid imagination, had bounded out of nowhere and was scratching ferociously at the Harmonies with razor-sharp claws. A few of them had fled at the sight of it.

Of course, it’s a werewolf. I should’ve known no vampire could exist without a werewolf at the same spot.

“Abra!” Jemima squealed, thrilled, and ran towards him, pulling Pierre along. The werewolf had transformed back into a human again. He was a respectable-looking fellow, haggard nonetheless, dressed in a business suit and holding a briefcase that he had left at a side when he had transformed the first time. His eyes retained the wariness his werewolf form had had.

“You children are late,” he said emotionlessly, straightening his tie, “by five hours.”

“This is Abraham, the researcher I was telling you about,” giggled Jemima, “he’s a werewolf, if you didn’t know. He can become a werewolf every night, but requires a stupendous amount of energy to do so in the day. He must be tired now, and it’s all your fault for moving!” she gave Pierre a steely glare and marched on ahead, leaving a jealous Pierre walking behind.

“Where are we going next?” he shouted crossly to the two in front.

“My library, where you were supposed to meet me,” was Abraham’s frigid response.


Last edited by Pen&Paper on Wed Aug 06, 2008 10:58 pm; edited 4 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 24, 2008 9:26 am

Yes, here comes Chapter 3. I know it's even more fast-paced than the previous two chapters, but I got carried away. Sorry there. Very Happy
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeSun Jul 27, 2008 4:35 am

I've done my second round of edits to Chapter 3. Some kind of description has been added to some of the dialogue.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 29, 2008 6:52 am

Chapter 4- From The Enemy's Lair

In the bleak, cold darkness of the wilderness, nothing moved.

Nothing, save for a minuscule rat popping its head out of a hole in the ground. It was a misty night tonight, and the swirling mist, coupled with the waning crescent moon overhead, rendered the rat unable to see far. It twitched its whiskers, and pressed its wet nose on the grassy ground. This was certainly not the best night to forage, but the rat had no choice anyway. With a wince and a squirm, it wriggled itself out of the tunnel leading into its home, and began moving cautiously into the unseen night.

It estimated that it had been proceeding for about fifteen minutes, when it sensed an aura much gloomier than the midnight atmosphere. It felt almost like impending doom. A sense of chill enveloped the rat, and at the sound of footsteps, it slunk into the bushes, trembling. The footsteps belonged to a burly man with coarse mannerisms. The rat had seen its fair share of those. It turned to go, but something kept it back. It reluctantly turned around again to see just what the man was doing in the dead of night.

He was walking briskly towards a building. The building was so large that the rat, with its limited scope of vision, knew not where it ended. All it could see was a stretch of concrete, cement and whatever humans used to build things with. There was only one window to the building, and that was right at the top, a tiny circular pane of glass positioned at the precise centre. The man was reaching the door now, which was no more a door than the gate to a fortress. It was a slab of tough metal, probably some material stronger than the ordinary steel, and surprisingly, unguarded. It was unlikely that such an important-looking place had no guards, but the rat had a hunch why. This was no ordinary "important-looking place".

It was the Mage Council headquarters.

The burly man was now facing the door. His eyes fixed on a spot ahead of him, he raised his flabby arms and blue rays of light shot out from his outstretched palms and headed straight for the door. In an instant, the light had cloaked the metal door and when it faded, the door was gone, leaving just an opening that the man stepped into, and after a few seconds, the opening closed itself up again.

The rat decided it had seen enough. It turned tail and fled in the direction from which it came.

The man continued on his way. He was now on the factory level of the headquarters. Busy factory workers pushed past him, carrying files and clipboards or just preparing to cast various spells by rubbing their palms together in the form of a warm-up. Big gleaming pipes lined the walls, and from the openings floated out Harmonies from time to time, those adorable round things the man was fond of. It was quite a simple process creating these mindless, soulless entities, but they were quite useful in keeping the mages informed of the goings-on around Lushenfurg. For example, one Harmony had recently reported back that a boy not native to Lushenfurg was journeying with a vampire of the Spiral Ring as well as a werewolf. This was interesting news indeed. Why would a foreign mortal, a vampire and a werewolf be together? Racial segregation was common in Lushenfurg. The Council had sent more Harmonies to keep an eye out for them.

The man left the cacophony of the factory level, the annoying clinking, clanging and banging, as he stepped onto a yellow pad at the far end of the room. This was the only access to the top floor, where the Master of all Mages, Lauren Falcon, dwelled. In the instant that both the man’s feet were on the pad, his whole body disappeared and reappeared again in a dim room, almost empty except for a desk with a soothing table lamp on it, tucked against the window. A lean man was sitting near the desk, his handsome features shielded in the darkness, but his hands evidently moving, playing with a rodent of some sort, which scurried on the table in a frightened manner. This man was Lauren Falcon, the mastermind of the Mage Council who would not tolerate any other race in Lushenfurg but the mages.

“What is it?” he said, concentrating on the rat. Sparks flew out from his fingers from time to time, turning it into other animals like a fish, a hamster and an ant, which he squashed duly. When his magic subsided, the corpse of the rat could be seen, its face contorted in an incredulous manner, and its whole body was covered with blood. The viewer felt a little dizzy. The stench of blood never failed to make him sick, however much he pretended otherwise. He tried valiantly to maintain a straight face.

“It’s the agent from the Spiral Ring, sir. He says he knows just what that girl, Jemima Spaceton, is up to.”

“Ah yes, that one. He keeps his identity very secret.”

“But you have met him, haven’t you, sir?”

“So I have,” Lauren Falcon gave a short laugh, “but I shall not disclose this agent’s particulars. He is still working safely in the Spiral Ring, above suspicion. No one imagines that he is a traitor. I do love it when people sacrifice their own races for the sake of the greater race. Unfortunately, however much he tries to shrug it off, he is still a vampire, and I am still forced to eliminate this very loyal traitor in the end. Mark the irony, Middleton.”

Middleton laughed nervously. He had not gotten over the death of that rat, and felt a twinge of pity for the fool still in the dark. When he sensed that Falcon had said his fill, he continued, “Don’t you want to know what the three travelers are planning?”

“I already know. They want the diary. There’s no cause for alarm, though, they don’t know how long the journey would be. But I don’t deny that it would be a spot of fun to play with them now and again.”

His lips widened to reveal a set of perfectly straight, pearly-white teeth.


Last edited by Pen&Paper on Mon Aug 04, 2008 5:21 am; edited 2 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 29, 2008 6:53 am

I love Chapter 4! I love the idea that I don't need to care about the main characters for 1 chapter! Okay...whatever...
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeSat Aug 02, 2008 3:05 am

I added a few sentences to Chapter 4.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeMon Aug 04, 2008 5:22 am

I realise that the phrase "important-looking place" ought to be there. It's meant to be THE description for the headquarters. To reinforce that point, I added inverted commas to the name.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeTue Aug 05, 2008 6:35 am

Chapter 5- Extract From Pierre Cartley's Diary

1st August, Friday 8.03 pm
Hey Diary, I’m sorry about completely forgetting to write last night. This entire chain of events happened that I still firmly believe is a dream up to now. Apparently Grandpa, who wasn’t too close with me when I was a kid, is the assistant of some hero guy in this alternate dimension and now the said dimension is going to be destroyed by evil forces and only by reading the hero’s diary can I save the day. So here I am, stuck in a place where very odd food is served and my parents are going to be at home worrying and I must admit I’m getting a bit homesick myself. Jem, the girl who brought me here, isn’t even sure herself if the plan’s going to work. If bringing me here is worth the trouble at all. Isn’t that fantastic? There’s a high chance that all this may still lead to utter ruin after all. Oh, and the supposed Mage Council are targeting Earth after that. MY home.

Lushenfurg is really not Earth. Abraham was looking over my shoulder as I was scribbling down the header of this entry, and told me placidly that today certainly is not the 1st of August. It’s the 32nd of Hiptember or whatever. I think they have 13 months, or even more. At any rate, I got up and engaged in a heated debate with him over calendars and seasons and why the heck would he be peeping in my diary when Jem screeched pointedly from somewhere that males should be seen and not heard, she was setting up a bonfire for the night which we should really be helping her with instead of quarrelling over trivial affairs, besides “you spent my thirty silver talismans to buy some purple notebook with a fancy design just to write some stupid DIARY!”

I don’t see what’s wrong with that. I could have been at home, on another planet or dimension, writing in my precious diary, but for her, and I’m using this as a replacement. I can’t help Lushenfurg inflation, can I? All the notebooks I liked in that shop she took me to were very expensive, and this is already the cheapest of the lot. It’s not even my favourite colour.

Jem and Abraham are not my ideal traveling companions, I would say. To put it harshly, Jem is bossy, much too impatient and doesn’t respect me in the slightest. If all she says is correct (which I’ve yet to verify), and I’m really going to rescue Lushenfurg, shouldn’t I be treated with more reverence? As for Abraham, he’s not like her, but very mysterious. I thought Jem was secretive, but it turns out Abraham is more so. He loves his books, is totally absorbed in his reading most of the time (that’s not wrong, naturally), and yet has these weird opinions towards gender and race. Jem’s warm enough to him, but he’s abnormally distant. Sometimes he’s even closer to me than to her, which is curious. He scowls whenever he sees her, or other ladies too, and he haughtily talks about werewolves and how they’re superior to other races when it comes to hand-to-hand combat (he’ll usually look cockily at both myself and Jem at those times). I really wonder how a knowledgeable person can be so prejudiced.

I asked Jem about him in private one day, and she explained that yes, actually werewolves did have an advantage over other races in brute force. Different races, according to her, have different inborn specialties. Vampires have the highest speed over all races, and mages are renowned for their magical offence. “Even normal humans have a strength,” she had smiled, “and that’s evasiveness. Shoot an arrow at a human from a distance and he dodges it nine times out of ten, without knowing why himself. I don’t know if it’s the same for foreigners like you, though. It’s bizarre, but that’s how those humans survive in a dangerous land as Lushenfurg.”

“Racial segregation is a policy of Lushenfurg. Different races have so diverse beliefs and ideals that we feel it is better that we have nothing to do with each other, so we set up our own communities. The Spiral Ring is one such community comprising only of vampires. The actual reason why Abraham came with us was to ensure that I didn’t do any unlawful thing that would endanger the werewolves. We’re all just so suspicious of each other, and I dislike that. Of course, his motive is also to seek more knowledge by traveling to further lands. He’s a researcher after all.” Of course, these weren’t her precise words. I’m summarizing what she said to my understanding.

But I’m not contented. An hour ago I had gone to find Abraham to ask him for a pen. I had forgotten to buy one at the shop where I bought the notebook. When I saw him, he was sitting on a log (we’re right now at a clearing of Donn Forest) and peering into something. When I went up for a closer look, I saw it was a locket, quite old-fashioned and gold plated, and there was a photograph inside, of a young boy. I must have exclaimed then, for he jumped up and glared at me so savagely I feared he would turn into a werewolf and attack me, it must have entered his mind. Who is that boy? I wonder. He has blonde hair like Abraham, but the rest of his features are completely different. Abraham is sleeping now. He has been weak since the fight earlier today, and Jem says he’ll be like this for a day or so.

Donn Forest is really a menacing place. I mean, it’s been peaceful and all that here, and Jem and Abraham don’t seem in the least bit scared, but I can’t help thinking that the rustling of leaves and the occasional snapping of a twig from afar denote something sinister. I can’t believe Abraham would have a library in this forest. I think we have to walk deeper into the forest for a couple more days before we’ll reach it. The forest is dark in the daytime and even darker at night, needless to say. The bonfire’s light and heat seem to be engulfed by the darkness, they don’t reach me even when I’m sitting six paces or so from the fire. The trees are all so dreadfully old, their bark peeling off, and not to mention the insects. Jem says the insects have races too, but I think she’s just kidding. Imagine a vampire mosquito that can’t stop sucking blood once it starts…

I forgot to mention something significant. We met an old woman shortly before entering Donn Forest. She was carrying a basket of wilted vegetables and staring aimlessly in front of her as she paced to and fro on the lane, dressed in a floral blouse and a plain green pair of trousers. I fear old, insane people like her, so I made sure to keep my distance, but she somehow turned her head at the right moment and spotted me, and grabbed my hand so forcefully that I couldn’t help yelping.

Her eyes were a fiery blue. I know blue can’t be fiery, but you’ve got to trust me on that. It was so blue and so alive that I swear I could see flames dancing around in her eyeballs. “Pierre Cartley…” she crooned. “Hello,” was the only reply I could muster, struggling to release myself from her grip.

“How do you know him?” Abraham narrowed his eyes and asked.

“The prophecy tells me…” she grinned broadly, gazing dreamily at my face. Without waiting for a cue, she began chanting, “The son of the land who leaves behind his diary…the grandson of the land who picks it up and reads it…will free the land from agony, pain and hatred…but only when he belongs…”

I rolled my eyes. Puh-lease. I was struck by how this prophecy of hers was the worst written I have ever heard. It did not rhyme, and it sounded like a bunch of nonsense strung together. I glanced at the others, and we started to leave as the woman let go of my hand. We had walked quite a few steps before she uttered something quite astounding.

“Joel Jupiter’s diary is with the Mage Council right this instant.”


Last edited by Pen&Paper on Tue Aug 05, 2008 6:39 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeTue Aug 05, 2008 6:38 am

In this chapter, I'm trying to put in what Pierre feels about the whole incident (which I notice hasn't been very well elaborated) without making it seem out-of-place, hence the idea of a diary, but I know it still feels awkward.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeWed Aug 06, 2008 11:00 pm

I added a dialogue to Chapter 3. It doesn't signify anything, but it gives a few hints on Jemima's past.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeWed Aug 13, 2008 5:58 am

Chapter 6- Ambush

“I still feel that there’s someone watching us, from somewhere near,” mumbled Pierre insistently, as the trio ate a light breakfast of cabbage sandwiches and prepared to continue on their way. “I’m sure I’m not just being overly suspicious, as you guys say.”

It was the second morning they were spending in Donn Forest. They had trooped about three kilometers into the forest and there was only a quarter of the journey left. Abraham had been trying to speed the group up, but Pierre was not the kind to be easily hurried, Abraham realised. In the mornings, he would be too drowsy to walk quickly. In the afternoons, he was too hot and thirsty. In the evenings, he would be starting to get hungry and at night he would positively not budge from his spot if they did not break camp.

Children were like that these days. Jemima was an exception, of course, but her childhood had never been like other kids from the start. Abraham was not too sure about her background, but he was sure it was no ordinary one like Pierre’s.

“Daddy, let’s take a breather,” a blonde boy whined, kneeling on the dusty footpath and cupping his small hands under his chin.

Abraham turned around, his deep brown eyes gazing at his son. They were hard and emotionless, but softened at the sight of the pouting boy, stubbornly rooted to the ground. Beads of sweat trickled down the boy’s rosy cheeks. Yes, Abraham was pushing his son too hard.

“Alright,” he muttered, “we’ll rest.” Immediately, the boy’s face brightened, and he smiled at his father sweetly. At once, Abraham was overwhelmed by a surge of emotion. He looked so much like his mother, from his appearance all the way to his personality. Jeremiah Hawkins was nothing like his father, yet he had never known his mother, or even seen her since he was one. Abraham had never understood it, or tried to understand.


“Pierre, if you’re using that as an excuse to rest again, I’m going to punch you,” Jemima shot a doubtful look in Pierre’s direction. Abraham shook his head at her solemnly. It was not just Pierre. His werewolf instincts had kicked in since the previous night, warning him of movement only a short distance away. He glanced around. Nothing out of the ordinary was detected, and he did not expect otherwise. The enemy would be well hidden, he was sure of that. It was puzzling how Pierre, a mere human, could have sensed it too, but Abraham took it that this was how the weaker races survived, by pure intuition alone.

“I don’t sense anything,” Jemima dropped her voice into a whisper, her eyes narrowing into green slits for better vision, making her look more like a cat than ever. The trees around them rustled as a sudden breeze swept by. The trees were quite tall, most of them at least ten metres in height, and very dense unless it was a clearing, and this made them excellent for hiding prying eyes. Abraham was familiar with this stretch of forest, and he knew how misleading the trees could be.

“Your senses are considerably weakened if the target does not contain blood, and besides, vampires are never meant to hunt in wooded areas. This is completely different from a city,” he explained patiently, “now let’s just hurry on and avoid it if we can. We’re at a disadvantage here.”

“No blood…” muttered Jemima as they sped up, Pierre picking up speed especially rapidly, “…like a Harmony…”

“What’s a Harmony?” Jeremiah pointed at Abraham’s open book with his stubby finger, standing on tiptoe to reach the brightly polished birch veneered table, where Abraham was poring over his notes, making clicking noises on his old-fashioned typewriter as his fingers worked ceaselessly.

“Oh, it’s just something bad,” Abraham replied vaguely, not really registering the question. Jeremiah was seven now, and starting to ask far too many questions.

“Is this why you’re sending me away to Uncle Algernon?”

Abraham’s fingers froze. He had no idea that Jeremiah was aware of his plan. He turned, and came face-to-face with his son. Jeremiah’s violet eyes burned into his, unblinking.

“I don’t want to go, Daddy.”


Abraham’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by a hissing sound. The Harmonies were floating towards them, brushing against the leaves. He counted about three of them, the large, round blockheads, but he was sure there would be more. Jemima was already in the air, striking at a Harmony with her razor-sharp teeth. Pierre was running as speedily as his long legs could carry him to a safe spot surrounded by sharp leaves that would hopefully prick and burst any Harmony that came his way. Abraham effortlessly transformed into his wolf form. It was still early morning, and fortunately, the moon was still hanging in the night sky. He peered proudly at the glinting claws reflecting off the moonlight, and prepared to pounce, his hind legs bent and his furry grey tail erect.

He and Jemima must have been fighting for a long time, he was not sure, but when the Harmonies in the vicinity had been defeated, they went to find Pierre, but did not manage to. He was not among the thorn bushes as Abraham had seen him last, or behind any tree, and he did not respond to Abraham’s canine growl, whether in fright or recognition. Jemima noticed signs of a scuffle near the thorn bushes, but they were vague, and left no tracks. Pierre had been taken away, just like that.

“Drastic change of plans, huh?” grinned Jemima, struggling to mask the panic in her voice and face. This was certainly unexpected, Abraham agreed, but they should have expected it, it was the simplest thing to do, to kidnap the most vulnerable member of the group. Why had he not thought of that?

Abraham was struck by how different the house was after Jeremiah’s departure. It became so empty and desolate now. He slumped onto his couch, now no longer jumped on by Jeremiah, and clenched his fists. It was for the best; of course it was for the best. It was best that Jeremiah knew as little as possible about his parentage, his race, and the danger he was facing being with Abraham. Algernon was an altogether much safer person to live with.

Despite that, Abraham could not help feeling a twinge of loneliness.
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeWed Aug 20, 2008 7:26 am

Chapter 7- In Captivity

A long time had passed before Pierre decided to open his eyes again, and then found that there was nothing worth observing in front of him now.

The last time his eyes had been wide open, the gang had been assaulted by Harmonies in the middle of the forest. Jemima and Abraham had fought as usual, while he had found a suitable place to hide as usual too. Being a bystander to an awesome duel was thrilling, till he had found himself a reluctant participant to one when something had grabbed him from above and pulled him skyward. He had then closed his eyes and scrambled wildly for anything to hold on to, but only managed to clutch a fistful of grass, which he had pulled together with him, before dropping to a faint.

Now, he found himself looking straight into a fire, his entire body bound by strong rope to a tree. The fire was no ordinary bonfire that his team had used at nights. It was a massive flame, similar to the kind used by evil hags in fairytales to boil water and cook innocent little children. The only solace he found in the fire was that there was no cauldron or pot anywhere near it, so it might just be used for warming purposes only, though which big, menacing creature would be warming itself with this big fire was beyond his imagination. Relieved at the thought of not becoming food, though, he turned his head excitedly about to find his captor.

Finding no one, he tried to guess his whereabouts. The woodland around him was no different from Donn Forest, so he reckoned that he had not been taken far from his companions. Was it a Harmony that had brought him here? No, Harmonies did not have hands. Was it a bird then? That sounded far-fetched to him.

The smoke from the fire was getting hard to bear. It was quite sooty, and due to wind patterns, it was persistently drifting into his nose. He was aware of a dry feeling in his throat, and sticky mucus threatening to gush out of his nose. He was suffering from influenza. Ach, he never failed to fall sick whenever he traveled abroad, he was sure of that. It was probably his weak constitution that caused this, but this was certainly the worst time to be ill, just when he was now a captive.

“This is my catch, Boss,” he heard a low growl coming from somewhere behind him, and quickly craned his neck to check. He saw a group of werewolves, in their wolfish form, walking towards him, their pale yellow eyes glinting in the rising sun. He counted about five of them, smiling at him now with gleaming yellow teeth.

“Where did you find it?” snarled the apparent “Boss” in a raspy tone, extending a claw to tickle Pierre’s cheek. Pierre resisted an impulse to sneeze. Instead, he eyed the werewolves warily. So it was a werewolf that had taken him away after all.

“Near Hawkins, Boss. I jumped with it all the way here,” was the first wolf’s answer. Pierre marveled at his muscular legs, which certainly seemed superior to the rest of the group. It was bulging at all the right places, and veins could be seen even amidst the thick fur.

“Finnigan the High Jumper,” grinned “Boss”, “excellent work. We shall prepare the sacrificial ritual then.”

“W-what?” Pierre yelped involuntarily. It was bad enough to be eaten for breakfast; he needed to participate in a cooking ritual as well? The werewolves turned towards him, as if astounded that their meal could talk. One of them, a badly scarred werewolf who was missing a fang, leaned toward him, his eyes dancing with crazy glee. “The sacrifice speaks!” he cheered.

“Hey, why’re you using me as a sacrifice? I didn’t do you any harm,” Pierre continued, fidgeting uneasily. Perhaps if he delayed the ritual, there would be a better chance of being saved. This was his only solution.

The Boss threw his head back and laughed, “The Meatcrunchers don’t only sacrifice enemies- we sacrifice all humans! As long as you’re not an animal, and you’re in our hands, you’re part of the sacrifice! Vampires, mages, mere mortal humans…gods don’t mind whatever race you are! In fact, we haven’t had many such people like you wandering around Donn Forest for a long time, not since Hawkins left, anyway…” he gritted his teeth at the mention of the name, and Pierre cringed.

“You don’t mean Abraham, do you?” he whispered timidly.

“Oh, how affectionate you call his name,” Finnigan the High Jumper snorted, his feral nostrils flaring, “the traitor who returned to human ways. I gather you’re his friend, are you not? But no matter, we have no time to chat, we have a ritual to prepare for. When the sun sets tonight, you will be our long belated gift to the Divine.” The werewolves sniggered and walked off, led by the Boss, leaving Pierre wondering how he should be spending his final day alive, and why Abraham had never mentioned the Meatcrunchers.

I can’t imagine Abraham as a bloodthirsty savage tribesman like them! He’s always seemed so refined from what I can tell…

In another part of the forest, Jemima and Abraham were standing in front of a wooden shed. It was no bigger than an apartment toilet in any Earthen city, but when Abraham unchained the door to reveal the closely packed interior, Jemima saw that it contained everything a researcher would ever need. Three bookshelves leaned against the walls, packed to the brim with encyclopaedias. There was a computer at the other wall, beside the door. It rested on a precarious three-legged table, with one of the legs possibly sawn off, but the computer itself was spotless, if not new, and Jemima had an inkling that it was akin to a gem hidden in a trash heap.

Abraham made for the computer now, his fingers flying lightly over the keyboard. Jemima looked out of the window, lost in thought. She murmured after a long period of silence, “where do you think Pierre is now?”

“I’ve no idea,” Abraham replied carelessly, his eyes never leaving the computer screen, “whereas I’ve a slight clue as to where the diary is. So the probability of us successfully procuring the diary is greater than that of us rescuing Pierre at any moment now. Once we get the diary, we can focus on locating the boy.” If by any chance he’s really with them, I’m absolutely not going to show myself to them, even if it means risking his life.

Jemima pursed her lips. She had known Abraham was a hard-hearted man, but it was unthinkable that he should prioritise a book over a human life. Yet even if she set off now to search for Pierre, she could never expect to track him down. He could be anywhere. She fought back her anxiety and nodded to Abraham.

“Let’s go to Rainbow River then. That’s where the diary’s supposed to be, right? Print out a map of it and let’s go.”
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PostSubject: Re: Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga   Journey- Book 1 of the Lushenfurg Races Saga I_icon_minitimeWed Aug 20, 2008 7:28 am

I won't be online for a time after this, so the next time I turn up I'll probably be posting a series of chapters in 1 shot.
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