Alright, guys. I don't know if you're reading this, but chapter three is up:
And as he looked into Serena's eyes, he knew of the errors of his ways. All this pain and suffering he had caused. His eyes strayed into his heart, for the longest time believing it had nothing but hatred. What he saw was guilt at helping to destroy the Hero of the Heavens, of reviving the Gittish Empire of long before, causing them to enslave innocent mortals. At how he, once a respected and beloved Celestrian had actually thought of destroying the land of mortalkind. But looking at his Serena, her ghostly beauty, he knew he could not do such a thing. His demonic form had been shed as soon as he saw her, once more returning to his angelic body, his true body.
But he knew he could not last. That battle with the Celestrian-turned-mortal, it had weakened him greatly. Even now his body was degrading. He looked at Serena with sad eyes, asking for forgiveness. Serena watched all of his emotions play out in his face, a look of love and mercy in her face. She would go with him, up to join Zenus, the Almighty, the god he had slain. He flapped his wings, looking at his killer, with happiness and a look of thanks on his face.
“It is time to go,” whether he heard this from Serena, or he was speaking from his fading lips, he did not know.
With one last burst, he flapped his wings up, carrying his love with him, up into the glowing light above.
-Excerpt from Corvus
, by Oreh of the Angelborn
* * *
The warrior who stepped up to the desk was not unlike many of the beings who walked into the Quester's Rest. He was obviously Greek, but his skin was pale, practically blue, like ice. Purple wings were folded onto his back, and he was wearing armor. His hair was long, surprisingly jet black, hanging below his shoulders. He had a tired look on his face, and Erinn, the owner of the inn the newcomer was in, was there to greet him.
He came up to her, and she spoke.
“Welcome to the Quester's Rest, a place to rest your weary head! Rooms are 12 coins a night. Would you like one?”
The warrior looked at her. Of course, Erinn thought, her head burning a bit from embarrassment and the heat from the orange bandanna tied around her head, the Greeks are still not used to the fact that women in our world are just as respected as men.
Finally, the warrior spoke. “I am Calais, Son of Boreal,” he said, “Who was the North Wind.”
“Was...?” Erinn looked confused.
“It is nothing,” Calais replied, “I would like a room.”
“That will be 12 gold, please.”
The Demigod looked around, a small look of panic in his eyes. Erinn realized suddenly he had no money.
“It's alright, Calais,” she said, “I'll let you have this night free.”
“No,” Calais replied, “I will not shame you by doing so,” he took out a drachma, the currency of Greece, “Will this suffice?”
Erinn stared at him, looking down at the drachma. Yes, it would suffice. It would greatly suffice, she guessed. The drachma was considered incredibly rare in these parts, even if it was common in Greece.
“Yes,” the innkeeper said, “That will do.”
Calais smiled, an icy grin that sent chills down Erinn's spine. She smiled back, and the warrior walked away, up the stairs, and to his room.
“Nearly a full house,” Erinn said to Patty, the smile still on her face.
Patty just looked at her, in her observing manner, staring at the young innkeeper, her dark blue hair an a pony-tail to keep from going into her face. Patty's turquoise eyes practically pierced Erinn's soul, as she used had so many times when she wanted to decide new friends for any visitors who chose to travel in a party.
“Yes,” Patty finally said, then she turned back and looked at the customers having a drink.
Sellma was busy talking with a customer, her blond hair tied into curls as usual. Her green dress had been slightly dirtied by a traveling Koffing, the purple floating orb laughing the smoke out of it with a Veedramon, the humanoid dragon towering over the rest of the room.
A Jynx and a soldier from Stornway who was off-duty were playing cards in the corner, both staring at the table, making sure the other didn't see there hand. The soldier finally laid down his hand, sighing deeply, as the Jynx smiled, her purple face slightly blushing (as she had not played before.)
Suddenly there was an eruption as an Ogremon grabbed a Ditto angrily, squishing the small creature. The creature oozed between the Champion-level Digimon's grimy hands, its smile manipulated into a frown. The Ogremon itself was a giant monster, a green, hairless gorilla. It had orange hair, long, with a huge mouth full of teeth. It only wore leather shorts, and it usually carried a giant bone as a bludgeoning instrument.
The creature walked over to the desk, slamming the Ditto onto the desk, causing many cracks to appear on the wood.
“This little Pokeman is stealing my drink!” the Ogremon roared, “I want another!”
“Were you?” Erinn asked the small, purple blob that was the Ditto.
“No,” the Ditto said, a smile on its face.
That was the problem with this one, a common visitor to the bar, but not the inn. His name was Ubit, a small-time crook, who a month ago found his way to the Quester's Rest, and discovered Zoomshine, a drink discovered at the beginning of the Great Fusion. He loved it, Ubit did, and since he was a Ditto he could weasel his way into drunk customer's drinks, and he never needed to pay.
But Erinn knew he had been slipping his way into the Ogremon's cup. She had been watching him all day, taking note of when the Ogremon looked away, when he showed signs of intoxication.
The Ogremon himself was obviously dangerous, as he was enraged, strong, and not right in the head. Erinn also saw that when Ubit spoke to her, lying flat across the desk, a small bubble popped out of his mouth, the sign of ingesting a lot of Zoomshine.
“Sellma, can you get this Ogremon a drink?” Erinn asked her friend.
Sellma, although technically not an employee (she leased a small space in the inn) did favors to help repay Erinn's generosity at letting her lease the inn per month. She nodded, grabbing a new cup and getting some more Zoomshine.
Meanwhile, the innkeeper to the Quester's Rest peeled Ubit off the table and walked out the backdoor. The Ditto protested, squirming around, trying to transform into something to escape. Erinn plopped him outside, away from the door, in a lighter spot so she could see him.
“That's it, Ubit.”
“Erinn, Erinn,” Ubit said, “What's all this for?”
“I've put up with your antics long enough, Ubit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ubit,” Erinn brought her face close to the foot-high Pokemon, “The Quester's Rest is well-known for having a clean environment and not having any tolerance for crime. Now I know you've been here the last month, but you've been paying for the drinks to get off for getting in trouble, but today is the last straw. You've gone and made a good customer angry.”
“I don't think it's justified to call an Ogremon a 'good cust'-”
“Everyone who is honest in the Quester's Rest is a good customer, Ubit. You are not a good customer. So get out of here, out of Stornway, maybe. Just don't let me see you again.”
The Ditto looked at Erinn with a look of mock apology, then squished its way off.
When she went back inside, Sellma was smiling at her with pride.
“Way to tell him off, Erinn,” she said, “It's about time that moron was kicked out.”
“I guess,” Erinn said, giggling, “It felt good to do that.”
Sellma laughed, when they heard a noise outside. It was the screaming of a Zoom spell, and in a bolt of light blue, a little ways away from the shop a customer came down. He was dressed in white armor, which completely covered his body except for the head, which revealed his long brown-gray hair (which went down to just above his shoulders), his blank face that hid a warrior inside his soul. The tattered remains of a red cape hung from the back of the armor, long ago torn away in some terrible battle. Long ago, when the stars started falling one night, he said he had been battling a dangerous enemy, but he had just left it at that.
“Well,” Erinn said, “If it isn't Oreh. How is my favorite customer?”
“You say that to everyone, Erinn,” Oreh said, smiling, “but I'll take the compliment. I'd like a room, please.”
“Lucky you,” Erinn replied, “It's the last one. I'll give you a special staff rate, naturally. That'll be three coins, please.”
Oreh handed her the money. Erinn noticed something.
“Oreh,” she asked her friend, “Why is your hand shaking like that?”
“Just an old injury,” Oreh replied, grimacing slightly, but quickly hiding it with a smile, “Little scrap I had a while ago.”
Erinn could tell that it wasn't from a scrap, the way he hid the wound away with an overly cheery demeanor. But she didn't way anything, however, merely accepting the money with a slightly suspicious look on her face.
Oreh walked away, up to his room. It was a nice little place, just cleaned, the wood gleaming slightly from Erinn's hard work. The bed was easily comfortable enough, and a small table was next to it.
Oreh looked at his hand, that wound he had sustained so long ago, in a fight...
The Angelborn quickly shook the image of the battle away, when he had lost his teacher, Aquila, so long ago in Gittia, at the top of the tower.
And now he was alone. His brethren, the Celestrians, were all congregated at the Observatory in the west, floating in the middle of the ocean, the children of Celestria unable to leave lest their once angelic home break apart. He was the only one allowed to travel the world, alone, no companion to help him in his endless quest of protecting the world. The only friends who knew who he truly was were gone, unable to be spotted. All thought the train that had once glimmered in the sky destroyed, its inhabitants disappearing at the beginning of the Great Fusion, like all the worlds involved in the cataclysm.
But the train, the Starflight Express, could not have been caught up in the destruction that had razed every world, erasing entire continents and stitching the remainder into one world. It was too fast, the conductor too skilled to be able to be swallowed up. Somewhere, he knew, his friends were waiting, waiting for them to find them.
Suddenly there was a particularly loud clamor outside, and the main lobby downstairs went silent. There was suddenly yelling, panicked. Oreh ran down, interested.
If it wasn't Ivor, the innkeeper from Angel Falls. He was wearing his chain-mail, the only set of armor he owned, a sword at his side, dirt covering his face. He obviously was tired, and a cut was on his arm, the light red liquid pulsing, barely discernible to the darker red over-shirt that he wore over the chain-mail. He was carrying a Pokemon, a sand-yellow shrew, brown spikes covering his back, a white belly. What made Oreh's stomach jump, however, was the Pokemon's left eye.
It was gone, a white patch covering it, pink and blue goo dripping slowly out (crushed berries, no doubt, Oreh thought.) The Pokemon itself was unconscious, exhausted from the wound.
“A Wadget attack him last night,” Ivor said hurriedly, “We need someone to help us, because no one in Angel Falls was a very good healer. He won't live long now.”
Spell circles crossed themselves around Oreh, the sound of magic being heard in the room. A bright green shot came from the Angelborn's hand, engulfing the Pokemon. It relaxed a tiny bit, sighing.
“It will take more than that to get him out of the woods,” Oreh said, “But now we have plenty of time. He can take my room.”
And there we are. I'd really appreciate if you guys would post. I need criticism :P