This is the beginning of my time on here, and I thought I'd start it off with this budding story. There is a heck of a lot more planned to it, so hopefully you'll stick around for a bit more. Please don't be daunted by my newbie status; I promise that my writing quality will (hopefully) be up to par. Of course, comments are always welcomed. Anyway, enough about me, more disclaimers!
Jak and Daxter: The Precursor Legacy and all its characters belongs to Naughty Dog, and I am in no way affiliated to Naughty Dog, just a fan proclaiming their wonderful games to be worth writing about. However, the character Zorna is completely my own work.

The five senses.

Sound. The waves gently wash up on the beach. The cry of a native water bird. The occasional soft bellowing of a yakow. The rhythmic turning of the windmill.

Sight. The bright blue sky, patterned with fluffy white clouds. Bright green grass abound. Yellow warm beaches. Sturdy houses with thatched straw rooves.

Scent. Fresh caught fish. The salty sea breeze. The sweet fresh grass. A delicious pie being baked in the small town below.

Taste. The cleanest air in the entire world.

Touch. Clean, soft, undirtied clothes. Bouncy, ever so slightly dew covered grass. Warm sun on skin.

Precursors, this was paradise. Freaking paradise. No unbearable grinding, no foul smells, no hot, slimy grime. I should move here. Yeah, that's a good idea. Get a job in the village, nothing too flashy, just enough to get by. I'm sure in a few years time the value of these houses will skyrocket. Plenty to retire on. Yeah…I'll go do that. When I get up, I'll go do that. Just a couple more minutes resting. There's no rush.

"Come on, it's time to get up."

Didn't I just say there was no rush?

"There's so much to prepare for, and so little time to do it all in!"

Psh, like what? Haven't you seen this place? Time moves so slowly around here, I bet we're a year behind everyone else.

"Zorna, are you dreaming again? Come on, wake up!"

Wake up? Oh precursors, oh damn it, why? Why-why-why-why-why? Why can't it be real just this once? It's too real not to be. I don't believe you. I'm not going to wake up. Nope. Never. He's shaking me. No. No no. Nonononononono-

"There we are, sleepy head. You had me worried. Had you gotten ill, I don't know what I would do!" a deep, grainy voice fussed from over me. Here we go.

"You would have dealt with it, heat lamp. Now, can you please move your ever so generous girth so I can actually get up?" I grumbled, beginning to sit up.

HISS!

Aha, it worked.

As the rounded Red Sage shuffled over to less preoccupied space in his small hut, I did my own shuffling downwards in my bed and sat up, careful not to once again get my head on the piping hot pipe (oh ho ho ho, my way with words). Slowly, I untied the cold, now only slightly damp cloth from around my forehead, and looked at the dark burn mark which could have very well been on my brain. Old warm lump had purposely put that pipe over my pillow, claiming that the heatwaves emitted from it encourage positive dreams during sleep. To a degree, it had worked. However, I now needed to wear a wet scarf around my forehead to make sure each sleep was not my last. And it's not easy to get water around here!

Getting out of bed completely, I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath in. The smell of sulphur quickly over powered my sensitive nose, causing me to choke and cough, grasping at my throat. As I stumbled over to my small set of drawers to pull out my second cleanest red tunic, the Red Sage mused, "Its funny how you've lived here all your life, but still you gag every morning, without fail. One would think that you'd be used to it by now, or even find it comforting."

"Give me ten more years, Reddles, and I'll see what I can do," came my usual retort, as I laid out the tunic on top of the drawers and pulled off my woollen nightgown. I'd lived with the old coot long enough that I didn't care if he saw me naked, and he had learnt to turn around when I made my way over to this little corner of clothes anyway.

After slipping on some underwear and bra from the bottom drawer, I pulled on my tunic and pulled my long, thick, bright blonde hair through the neck hole. Snapping the large collar up so it shielded my neck, I looked in the mirror situated at eye level above the drawer. Not-So-Little-Red-Riding-Hood had made it for me for my tenth birthday when he had caught me peering into his bronze apron, trying to figure what I looked like.

I guess I was fairly okay to look at. Clear skin, despite my grimy surroundings. Large, hazelish eyes, both exactly where they were supposed to be. A straight nose, sitting inconspicuously in the middle of my face. Well sized ruby coloured lips sitting under that. But a face was a face, and didn't matter much in scheme of things. I usually chose to hide some of it with two shoulder reaching bangs. And soon those bangs, along with the roots of my hair would change colour. Soon.

I pulled on some loose fitting pants and sat down to start buckling up every piece of clothing to make them air tight. Whilst one would think living in the Volcanic Crater you would want air circulation through your clothes, if one hot rock managed to fly up your top, for example, fun times would definitely NOT occur. First pulling on some steel capped boots so I could do up my pants, I enquired as to what fun I'd be up to today. "Well, I want to fix our little 'gondola' which can transport people up to the snowy peaks above our little abode," the Red Sage began to explain, only to be cut off by myself as I tightened the buckles at the bottom of each legging. "Why would you want to fix that old thing? From what you've always said, 'horrible dangers' lurk up there. Precursors…you don't want me to go up there, do you?"

"Well, not really. I just wanted to get it up and running for the visitors I'll get through here in a few weeks time. There's probably plenty of old Precursor artefacts that they may want to try and find for their own uses." Dear ol' Red-in-the-Face, always thinking of others. He was too nice, but that's just the way I liked him.

What he said about visitors was also quite true. People, around my age, would be passing through Volcanic Crater on their way to the Citadel. A journey around our world, visiting the other Sage's huts and large Precursor buildings to both observe and learn what we could from them. A journey which would apparently 'define ourselves in the outer world, filled with tests and trials, which would not only push us physically, but mentally as well. It would make us challenge our morals, and in the end, make us into stronger people, ready for the hard tasks that lay further on in the future'. At least that's what my Big Man in Red, said. Honestly, I just think they wanted us out of their hair so they could congregate at the Citadel to see who would apprentice under whom! It couldn't be helped, though. It had to be done. All the sages were getting old. And old in their opinion is around the age of some of the 'younger' rocks, which to any normal minded person, such as myself, is insanely, ancient, falling apart old.

On another note, I felt sorry for the guy stuck with the crazy Yellow Sage. He'd have to do a full lap of the whole place. I'd probably be making most of my adventure with him, most to my utter joy, since he only lived down the Lava Tube. Well, if he even made through there, and didn't feel like going up to Snowy Mountain to see if he could find any Precursor Orbs, or even a Power Cell or two. Again, I pondered why anyone would want to go up there, just for those sorts of things. It was purely optional, and dangerous. Still, I wasn't about to argue the point any further with Red, and instead asked a more important question, which I already had a bad feeling about what the answer was going to be.

"Okay, so what has that got to do with me?" I asked, rechecking the straps on my sleeves before sliding on two metal arm guards. Please don't need power cells, I thought. Please.

"According to some of my old books, I'll need a few more power cells than what I already own. I'd really appreciate it if you went into the Spider Cave and tried to find some for me. There must be plenty of them in there, considering there was a whole robot!"

Of course, he wasn't commanding me to go down there. He was simply asking if I wouldn't mind doing him the favour. I could deny. I wanted to deny. I hated spiders. I hated looking for Precursor junk. But I always agreed to do it. He knew I'd always agree to do it. Was it because he was my beloved mentor?

Probably.

Was it because I was actually a big softie at heart?

Most definitely.

I got up and shook out my now armoured legs, and gave my portly father a nod. "I'll be back soon, hopefully. If I'm not back by dinner, worry," I said nonchalantly, leaning in slightly towards him so he could give me the customary kiss on the head.

"I'm worrying already, Zorna. If you're not back by lunch I'm coming looking for you!" he called out after me as I yanked my pair of goggles off the hook by the door and pulled them on around my head.

As I stepped outside, the heat from the lava below hit me like one would hit a punching bag. Tying a scarf I conveniently found in my shirt pocket (dear old Red-Red) around my mouth, I made my way across the eastern rickety old bridge.

My name is Zorna, daughter of the Red Sage, and this is my hell.