Disclaimer: I don't own Monster Rancher or any particular breed of monster
unless stated specifically that it has not been used by the company of the
creation of Monster Rancher (in English that means Tecmo). I do, however,
own the characters, story and setting, so please don't steal them.
~
A young Celios (Centaur/Tiger) trotted down a rocky hillside. A shimmering white medallion gleamed against his chest as it bounced from side to side like a hypnotist's pendant. The young monster didn't even seem to notice when the chain began to wear down and the links holding the medallion began to break one by one.
A Monol snuck from the shadows to fall into stride beside the Celios. The sight would have been thoroughly comical—a Celios barely old enough to wield his spear followed by an old-looking Monol—except for the fact that the Celios wore a cold expression no one—human or monster or otherwise—should ever have to wear at his age.
The Celios ground to a halt and the Monol went skidding past him. "Fool," he spat. "You dare trespass on our land and try to run with Æseri?" Æseri lifted his spear and hurled at the Monol as hard as he could.
The mood was ruined as the spear fell short and skidded to a halt in the dust five yards behind the Monol, who walked on, oblivious to all that was going on around him. "Damn!" Æseri spat in the dirt. "Five damned yards! I was so close to getting rid of the filthy…" he trailed off, calling the Monol every filthy name he could think of and a few more that he made up on the spot.
"Hmmm… not bad." A Striker (Naga/Tiger) slithered up to him. "I especially liked those last few… I've never heard them before."
"I made them up," Æseri muttered. "It was nothing. Really."
"That's your problem," the Striker said matter-of-factly.
"What's my problem?" Æseri snapped.
"You're an idiot, my dear Æseri. A pathetic, blithering idiot." The Striker laughed emptily. "You've got to learn… we don't care if you curse until your tongue falls out. All you need to do is know when to shut up and you'll be fine."
Æseri looked at the Striker suspiciously. "Who are you?"
The Striker laughed. "Technically speaking, my name's Жئصغشسيشصطعكم٤, but since nobody but my *own* kind can pronounce that, I'm called Sting." He grinned at Æseri, who clutched the sides of his head as the realization of Sting's name washed through his brain.
"Ouch…" he muttered. "How can even *you* pronounce a name like that?"
**********
"Fang! FANG! Listen to me, damn it!" a Mint (Pixie/Tiger) flew frantically to catch up with a Hound Dragon (Dragon/Tiger). "FANG!! Damn it…" The Mint charged up a Lightning attack in her hands and blasted Fang.
"What?" Fang turned his head to face the Mint. "Oh, hullo Jen. What do you want? Where have you been these past few days? When did you start wearing Black? Oh, and don't forget, 'What is the meaning of life?' What is it?"
Jen rolled her eyes. "Old Sting's causing trouble again. Go straighten him out."
"Why me?"
"Dævoro said to send you. *I* certainly won't be tangling with Sting."
"You can *screw* Sting for all I care, Jen. Why does Dævoro always send me? Why not anyone else? And why is it always Dævoro who handles him? Is Lucifer too high and mighty?"
"I don't know what Lucifer's up to and I don't know why Dævoro always sends you. Happy? Now GO!"
"Why is it that even though you wear Gray and he wears Orange, you find him intimidating? If he were your superior, *he* would be the one wearing Gray."
"JUST GO, damn it!" Jen flew off, muttering some rather uncomplimentary things about Fang under her breath.
**********
"Simple!" Sting chuckled. "It's in the blood. But anyway, you're new, aren't you?"
Æseri blinked. "How could you tell?"
"You're young, you can't hit a Monol with a spear at eighty yards, and you wear White."
"What do you mean, I wear White?"
"Your medallion is white. It's the lowest in the hierarchy."
"What are the ranks?" Æseri's gut dislike for Sting was wearing off to be replaced by the need to learn more.
"From lowest to highest… White, Yellow, Green, Orange—that's me, Red, Amber, Blue, Lavender, Gray, Black, Silver, Bloodstone, Gold and Black Gold—the highest. It's the one thing we do to show ranks, dude. You didn't just happen to end up with a white one."
"Oh."
"'Oh', he says." Sting laughed. "You're *real* new then, aren't ya?"
Æseri glared at Sting. "I can tell you don't like me, Sting, but I don't care. Dævoro said that in the future I'll be an active member of the Blue Devils."
"We're just 'the gang', kid. If we have to use a name, it's just the Devils." Sting laughed and began to slither away.
Æseri gripped his spear and threw it as hard as he could at Sting's retreating form. It struck him between the shoulder blades.
**********
"So how is he?" Fang glared at the Frozen Gaboo (Gaboo/Tiger).
"That would be, 'How is he, *professor*?' my dear Fang." The Gaboo laughed.
"Don't toy with me, Falon. I've had enough of your arrogance." Fang glared at him through slowly reddening eyes. "I wear Lavender to your Amber. Treat me with a little respect."
"If you're going to be so mean…" Falon's voice became an irritating whine "Then I won't tell you how he's doing."
"Do you know the little secret of these medallions, *Professor* Falon?" Fang smiled.
"What secret?" Falon snapped.
"This." Fang's smile widened as a wave of power shot from his medallion. "The medallions hold power. The higher in rank, the higher in strength. So tell me… how is he doing?"
"Slight wounding to the left lung and damaged muscle tissue in the back and shoulder region, but he'll be fine in a month."
"Only a month?" drawled a voice from the door, "Pity. I was aiming for the heart, you know, but I was off by a couple of inches." Æseri stepped into the room. "That's pretty neat about the medallions, you know. I never would have guessed."
"I'm *so* delighted that I could be of assistance," Fang sneered. "A rookie considers my long-found knowledge *useful*. A rookie who wears *White*."
**********
"I suppose you're wondering why I've called this meeting." Dævoro, a Sapphire (Gali/Tiger, also called Furred Mask), floated down to the center of the stadium. A medallion—Black Gold—hung down from whatever Galis used as necks. His blue cloak swirled around in the wind.
"We aren't wondering, at least not too much, so tell us the story and get off my podium." A Hound Knight (Durahan/Tiger) swung his sword in the air to punctuate.
"Let him sspeak, Ssir Frosstbit," said a sibilant voice. A Blue Terror (Joker/Tiger) floeated down and took his place next to Sir Frostbit. "He iss one of uss now… he wearss the Black Gold with the pride we all do."
"Thank you, master Lucifer. I appreciate your support." Dævoro smiled… as much as any Gali can smile.
"Lucifer iss enough… you equal uss now, Dævoro." Lucifer laughed, and those high-ranking enough to attend the meeting cringed. "You dissapoint me, my friendss… I thought I had trained you better than that…"
"It's about Sting… you all know Sting, right?" Dævoro cut in.
"Of course we all know Sting," Sir Frostbit snapped. "That Amber Striker, right?"
"Precisely. He's been causing trouble, and he got into a fight with a rookie."
"Dævoro, we don't care that Sting got into a fight with a rookie." Sir Frostbit kicked the dirt floor.
"The rookie ran him through with a spear. Lord Fang was informed that he suffered minor injuries, but in reality he could be crippled for life." Dævoro's form flickered slightly, as though he were irritated.
"Which rookie wass thiss, Dævoro?"
"Æseri, master Lucifer. A young Celios."
"I've met Æseri briefly, Dævoro, and he doesn't seem to be the type for runnin' folk through with spears." Sir Frostbit cut a wooden seat in two.
"That's what I thought too. Apparently I was wrong."
~
A young Celios (Centaur/Tiger) trotted down a rocky hillside. A shimmering white medallion gleamed against his chest as it bounced from side to side like a hypnotist's pendant. The young monster didn't even seem to notice when the chain began to wear down and the links holding the medallion began to break one by one.
A Monol snuck from the shadows to fall into stride beside the Celios. The sight would have been thoroughly comical—a Celios barely old enough to wield his spear followed by an old-looking Monol—except for the fact that the Celios wore a cold expression no one—human or monster or otherwise—should ever have to wear at his age.
The Celios ground to a halt and the Monol went skidding past him. "Fool," he spat. "You dare trespass on our land and try to run with Æseri?" Æseri lifted his spear and hurled at the Monol as hard as he could.
The mood was ruined as the spear fell short and skidded to a halt in the dust five yards behind the Monol, who walked on, oblivious to all that was going on around him. "Damn!" Æseri spat in the dirt. "Five damned yards! I was so close to getting rid of the filthy…" he trailed off, calling the Monol every filthy name he could think of and a few more that he made up on the spot.
"Hmmm… not bad." A Striker (Naga/Tiger) slithered up to him. "I especially liked those last few… I've never heard them before."
"I made them up," Æseri muttered. "It was nothing. Really."
"That's your problem," the Striker said matter-of-factly.
"What's my problem?" Æseri snapped.
"You're an idiot, my dear Æseri. A pathetic, blithering idiot." The Striker laughed emptily. "You've got to learn… we don't care if you curse until your tongue falls out. All you need to do is know when to shut up and you'll be fine."
Æseri looked at the Striker suspiciously. "Who are you?"
The Striker laughed. "Technically speaking, my name's Жئصغشسيشصطعكم٤, but since nobody but my *own* kind can pronounce that, I'm called Sting." He grinned at Æseri, who clutched the sides of his head as the realization of Sting's name washed through his brain.
"Ouch…" he muttered. "How can even *you* pronounce a name like that?"
**********
"Fang! FANG! Listen to me, damn it!" a Mint (Pixie/Tiger) flew frantically to catch up with a Hound Dragon (Dragon/Tiger). "FANG!! Damn it…" The Mint charged up a Lightning attack in her hands and blasted Fang.
"What?" Fang turned his head to face the Mint. "Oh, hullo Jen. What do you want? Where have you been these past few days? When did you start wearing Black? Oh, and don't forget, 'What is the meaning of life?' What is it?"
Jen rolled her eyes. "Old Sting's causing trouble again. Go straighten him out."
"Why me?"
"Dævoro said to send you. *I* certainly won't be tangling with Sting."
"You can *screw* Sting for all I care, Jen. Why does Dævoro always send me? Why not anyone else? And why is it always Dævoro who handles him? Is Lucifer too high and mighty?"
"I don't know what Lucifer's up to and I don't know why Dævoro always sends you. Happy? Now GO!"
"Why is it that even though you wear Gray and he wears Orange, you find him intimidating? If he were your superior, *he* would be the one wearing Gray."
"JUST GO, damn it!" Jen flew off, muttering some rather uncomplimentary things about Fang under her breath.
**********
"Simple!" Sting chuckled. "It's in the blood. But anyway, you're new, aren't you?"
Æseri blinked. "How could you tell?"
"You're young, you can't hit a Monol with a spear at eighty yards, and you wear White."
"What do you mean, I wear White?"
"Your medallion is white. It's the lowest in the hierarchy."
"What are the ranks?" Æseri's gut dislike for Sting was wearing off to be replaced by the need to learn more.
"From lowest to highest… White, Yellow, Green, Orange—that's me, Red, Amber, Blue, Lavender, Gray, Black, Silver, Bloodstone, Gold and Black Gold—the highest. It's the one thing we do to show ranks, dude. You didn't just happen to end up with a white one."
"Oh."
"'Oh', he says." Sting laughed. "You're *real* new then, aren't ya?"
Æseri glared at Sting. "I can tell you don't like me, Sting, but I don't care. Dævoro said that in the future I'll be an active member of the Blue Devils."
"We're just 'the gang', kid. If we have to use a name, it's just the Devils." Sting laughed and began to slither away.
Æseri gripped his spear and threw it as hard as he could at Sting's retreating form. It struck him between the shoulder blades.
**********
"So how is he?" Fang glared at the Frozen Gaboo (Gaboo/Tiger).
"That would be, 'How is he, *professor*?' my dear Fang." The Gaboo laughed.
"Don't toy with me, Falon. I've had enough of your arrogance." Fang glared at him through slowly reddening eyes. "I wear Lavender to your Amber. Treat me with a little respect."
"If you're going to be so mean…" Falon's voice became an irritating whine "Then I won't tell you how he's doing."
"Do you know the little secret of these medallions, *Professor* Falon?" Fang smiled.
"What secret?" Falon snapped.
"This." Fang's smile widened as a wave of power shot from his medallion. "The medallions hold power. The higher in rank, the higher in strength. So tell me… how is he doing?"
"Slight wounding to the left lung and damaged muscle tissue in the back and shoulder region, but he'll be fine in a month."
"Only a month?" drawled a voice from the door, "Pity. I was aiming for the heart, you know, but I was off by a couple of inches." Æseri stepped into the room. "That's pretty neat about the medallions, you know. I never would have guessed."
"I'm *so* delighted that I could be of assistance," Fang sneered. "A rookie considers my long-found knowledge *useful*. A rookie who wears *White*."
**********
"I suppose you're wondering why I've called this meeting." Dævoro, a Sapphire (Gali/Tiger, also called Furred Mask), floated down to the center of the stadium. A medallion—Black Gold—hung down from whatever Galis used as necks. His blue cloak swirled around in the wind.
"We aren't wondering, at least not too much, so tell us the story and get off my podium." A Hound Knight (Durahan/Tiger) swung his sword in the air to punctuate.
"Let him sspeak, Ssir Frosstbit," said a sibilant voice. A Blue Terror (Joker/Tiger) floeated down and took his place next to Sir Frostbit. "He iss one of uss now… he wearss the Black Gold with the pride we all do."
"Thank you, master Lucifer. I appreciate your support." Dævoro smiled… as much as any Gali can smile.
"Lucifer iss enough… you equal uss now, Dævoro." Lucifer laughed, and those high-ranking enough to attend the meeting cringed. "You dissapoint me, my friendss… I thought I had trained you better than that…"
"It's about Sting… you all know Sting, right?" Dævoro cut in.
"Of course we all know Sting," Sir Frostbit snapped. "That Amber Striker, right?"
"Precisely. He's been causing trouble, and he got into a fight with a rookie."
"Dævoro, we don't care that Sting got into a fight with a rookie." Sir Frostbit kicked the dirt floor.
"The rookie ran him through with a spear. Lord Fang was informed that he suffered minor injuries, but in reality he could be crippled for life." Dævoro's form flickered slightly, as though he were irritated.
"Which rookie wass thiss, Dævoro?"
"Æseri, master Lucifer. A young Celios."
"I've met Æseri briefly, Dævoro, and he doesn't seem to be the type for runnin' folk through with spears." Sir Frostbit cut a wooden seat in two.
"That's what I thought too. Apparently I was wrong."