(warps in, clad in riot equipment and ballistics shield)

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated" – Mark Twain.

Hello people, I know its been a while, but suffice to say that my personal life has been an absolute hell of late. Between exams, college applications, and writers block, this story got pushed to the back burner. I also suffered a major blow to my confidence (don't give me that look!) a couple of weeks back, as I was turned down by the Odyssey Workshop, and it took me a while to get back to writing.

Also, as a forewarning, I have been unable to get into contact with my beta reader (think hotmail's screwing me over again) so this chapter might have some errors in it. Might as in more than likely.

Many thanks to all of you who reviewed and I once again offer my sincerest apologies on not updating sooner. However, I hope to be back to a weekly update soon.

Lawyers- Me still no own, so leave me be!

&

First Contact

It was nearly two days of aimless riding when he finally realized where he was heading.

He had barely slept, but he still felt no weariness, for the pain clouded it, kept his body from realizing that it needed to rest and recharge.

Now, as he stared up at a distant range of mountains, the Reaver felt something else edge in alongside the pain that he felt. It was curiosity, an age old desire to find out about something he didn't know that drove him onward. Thus, driven by this, and the hopes that perhaps a few hours of observing the natives of the place would take his mind off his grief, he quickly accelerated towards the mountain range, and to the strange creatures that he knew dwelled within.

He'd left the Stinger back down at the base of the mountains some hours ago, and from there he had flown over it, quickly covering the icy peaks and heading down into the sheltered valley below.

At first glance, not much had changed in the six years since he'd been here last, but he'd learned enough about the world to realize that first glances were rarely all that accurate.

One thing did puzzle him, and that was that throughout his time being here, that he had uncovered clearings similar to the ones that he'd stumbled across the last time that he was in this place, and they did indeed show signs of recent occupation, but there were no dwellings to suggest that anyone lived there at the current moment.

What might have happened then? Could a famine have hit this place? Unlikely, judging by the amount of game that he saw running about. Perhaps a disease then? His own people knew enough of medicine and the like that such life threatening pathogens were a thing that had been all but forgotten, but somehow he doubted that these pale creatures had enough knowledge or technology to ward off bacteria and viruses to that degree.

And then perhaps… a war…

Such a thought, coming into a mind already wearied by conflict on such an unimaginable and devastating scale, was heartrending beyond words, and he prayed to whatever merciful deity might have been listening, that that would not be the case.

However, his hour's long musings over the fate of these strange, long eared sentients was suddenly brought to an abrupt and grinding halt as a sound reached his ears that he pretty much hadn't heard since he'd gotten out of the classrooms of his youth: the yowl of a large cat.

It was followed by a cry that contained several various sounds that the Praetor assumed were words of some sort. Obviously, this meant only one thing: these creatures were still here, and from the sound of things, stirring up a fight with the other local predators.

Driven by a reckless curiosity, the dark armored warrior raced off in the direction of the noise, eager and fearful of what he might find. About thirty seconds of dashing just off the ground (lest his large frame crashing through the underbrush of this forest alert either of the two beings ahead of him) was all that was needed to get him to the scene of the action.

What he saw took his breath away.

In a display of what could only have been an ancient battle for dominance, a large, brown and black striped cat paced back and forth in front of one of the pale skinned creatures. Off to one side, he also noticed the carcass of a creature that he knew to be a deer, which had one of those primitive arrows sticking out of the side.

In an instant, he put two and two together.

The pale skinned creature had obviously been out hunting, and managed to bag himself dinner, and the cat, no doubt smelling an easy meal, had come to dispute his claim.

Tarath took a moment and examined both of the combatants.

The cat was muscled and had doubtless eaten well of late, if the glossiness of its fur was any indication of its health. It was a good six feet long, making it slightly larger than its opponent, and it was about three feet high at its shoulder. It continued to pace back and forth, its jaws open and its fangs bared in a snarl, revealing themselves to be rather sizeable as well.

He then looked over at the bipedal sentient, which had its own teeth bared. A quick once over, which when combined from the shout that he'd heard earlier led him to conclude that this was a male of the species. His hair was blond and went back over his shoulders, and azure eyes that reminded him very much of his brothers sparked in anger. He was covered in the same furs that his kind had worn the last time he'd seen them. However, he noticed that his bow lay off to one side, and in his hand he clutched a weapon that Tarath had not seen expect in images from history books.

It was a short sword, its brownish sheen indicating that it was either copper or bronze in origin, and the creature gripped it tightly.

The cat suddenly screamed again, and pounced, hurling its frame, which likely weighed nearly as much as the Precursor observing this fight, at the other combatant, and for a moment, the Reaver felt his heart catch in his throat, obviously fearing that it was about to kill the biped.

However, that was not to be the case, and the fur clad creature rolled to the side, and lashed out with his weapon at the same time, drawing a line of blood along the side of the predator's flank, and sending any nearby birds fluttering for a quieter perch when it screamed in pain.

The cat retaliated by swiftly striking out with a paw, catching the pale skin across the chest and tearing through his garments. The being hissed in pain, which gave the cat enough of an opening to knock the creature down, and it opened its jaws, preparing to finish the fight once and for all. The Praetor went to intervene, but providence apparently favored the young male this day, as he kept enough wits about him to drive his blade up into the open mouth of his adversary, and Tarath watched in mild surprise as it came out of the back of the feline's head.

The cat slumped, the fires in its eyes dying, and the pale skin quickly threw the beast off of himself, lest it manage to crush him with its weight. Retrieving his bow and dusting himself off, the biped then cleaned his sword, and placing the deer upon his shoulders, trekked off into the underbrush once more.

For a moment, the Praetor entertained the thought of following the creature, but a quick look at his Eco levels told him that he was getting close to the edge of his safety zone, and he didn't fancy trying to cross those mountains in his normal form. Thus, he simply decided that he would come back the next day. It was past time for him to get some rest anyway.

The clearing was empty now, the corpse of the great cat gone as well. However, it was fairly obvious that there had been activity here, as a good number of footprints how dotted the glade. Also, judging by the stretch of grass that lay bent and crushed, the predatory feline had apparently been dragged out of this place.

He'd slept for almost eighteen hours when he'd finally gotten back to where he'd left his Stinger, awakening in the late afternoon of the next day. After a quick meal, and a pause to recharge his diminished Eco levels, the dark armored Ancient had quickly been on his way again.

Curiosity welling up inside of him, providing a much wanted distraction from his pain, the Reaver followed the fairly obvious trail deeper into the forest, wondering if he might come across another one of those villages these pale skins dwelled in.

His search had been rewarded a couple of hours later.

Night had fallen, shrouding the world in a dark blanket. However, this would prove to be an aid to his search, as the fires from the village shone like suns when he'd been searching with his night vision. Turning his visor back to its regular mode of viewing, Tarath moved closer to the community of sentients.

He reached the edge of the trees, and halted, not wishing to reveal himself to these beings and cause a panic amongst them. Fortunately, the black color of his armor would doubtless aid in his attempts to remain hidden, and so he focused his attention on the small village.

Several fires, presumably for cooking, burned, while another one, which was far larger and the Praetor assumed was for some sort of ceremony, lit up the whole clearing. Audible over the crackling roar that emanated from the blaze was something he could only describe as music. He zoomed in on some of the pale skinned creatures that sat around the bonfire, noticing that they were blowing into some strange, slender rods that appeared to be made of some sort of wood. Around them, several members of their race danced to the sounds, and the dark armored warrior was unable to stop himself from thinking back to the time when his people had doubtlessly been this way.

One thing that also surprised him was the sheer number of people that were in this place. Tarath did a brief estimate, and figured there had to be hundreds of these long eared beings, all of them celebrating with each other, for what purpose he knew not.

As he watched the festivities unfold, one other thing caught his eye. It was a small knot of these beings, sitting slightly apart from the rest. They were clad in furs that seemed to be of a higher quality than those of the others. Also, glittering items covered them, apparently made from bone or some rough and uncut gemstones. Even among that group, there was one person who he focused his attention upon. As soon as he saw him, Tarath knew that this was the same sentient that he had observed in the battle with the predatory feline the previous day.

It was a simple matter to identify him, for he had a cape around his shoulders that was made of the skin of the cat that he had slain, its claws locking the item around his neck like a broach. The short sword was strapped to his waist as well. This time, though, he wore something that made the Reaver's eye bulge from behind his helmet. It dangled from around his neck, set into an amulet that appeared to be made of bone. Firelight glistened off of its faceted surface, but even in that orange glow, the gem shone blood red.

An Eco Crystal! The Praetor was amazed that these beings had managed to find one of those. Even in a place as abundant in Eco as this place was, natural crystals were rare indeed. Did the young male even know the value of the item around his neck? Did he know of the power that lay dormant within it, awaiting the right circumstances to be released? Instantly, he understood, this group represented the tribal rulers, their ancient monarchy that his own kind had once been governed by.

Tarath shook his head and examined the rest of the group. They were mostly adults, but the young man was not alone, and several others of his own age group were present as well, and they talked in that strange tongue of theirs.

The dark armored warrior slowly levitated himself off of the ground, before skittering around the edge of the clearing, always being careful to stay out of sight. Gradually, he'd gotten up to where he could hear them better. Not that it truly helped, as he hadn't any idea what in Gaia's name they were even speaking about in the first place, but still, curiosity demanded that he be closer to them.

As he drew nearer to the cluster, he began to be able to pick out individual voices, noticing how they seemed to be laughing and joking, while some of them gripped the cat skin cloak that the young male, before chattering on in what the Praetor assumed was complementing him on his battle prowess.

The other creatures seemed to be perfectly happy at this moment as well, and the merriment that he saw here provided a stark and dramatic contrast to that of his own people, lost in the mourning for the souls of the dead and for those who were worse than dead.

They were so at peace with one another, so content with what little they had as far as comforts were concerned. To a degree, it made Tarath envious of them, that they could coexist with each other while his own kind had dissolved into war over the results of single scientific experiment. That train of thought led him to also wonder what might have happened had Kerrog and the Fallen Ones prevailed, and tried to terraforming experiment once again. He shuddered as that passed through his mind, horrified at the prospect of them wiping out another race of sentients who had done nothing to deserve it.

How arrogant had his people become, that they had thought they could meddle with something as powerful as they had with no thought for what might happen if something had gone wrong? They had nearly destroyed their own world in their haughty belief that they were so brilliant that nothing could have possibly gone awry.

Shaking his head, the Ancient returned his attention to the celebration that was before him, reminding himself that he had come out here to escape such bleak thoughts.

Time passed, and he watched as the villagers played games, child and adult alike, doing everything from racing around the clearing, to seeing who could jump the farthest. A smile came over his hidden face as he saw that, for it reminded him of the games of his own youth, and it was all he could do not to laugh along with them as they carried on like they hadn't a care in the world.

After those festivities had been carried out, a meal had been eaten, and the Precursor had wondered how high their metabolism must have been, for them to have to eat so much. Then, he remembered that they were about three times the size he and the rest of his kind normally was, and he mentally slapped himself.

If only Phoenix could see this, he thought to himself as he watched their conversations carry on through the meal, wishing he knew what they were saying, and resolving that after his little excursion here was over and done with, that he would bring his adoptive sibling out here as soon as he could.

Some more time had passed, and eventually, the celebration had started to die down. It was then, that something was made very clear to Tarath, and it certainly put his heart at ease.

One of the rulers had stood, a large, powerfully built male with a shock of black hair, and had embraced one of the others, whom the Reaver had figured was the father of the young hunter he had observed. Truthfully, he had been curious as to why a group that was even this size would need a governing group quite that large, and now, as the dark haired one and several others began to leave, he believed that he finally understood what was going on. There were actually two groups here, not one as he had at first believed, brought together by some special occasion that he didn't really understand.

However, that small problem was quickly cleared up, as about half of the people who were at the celebration got up, performed some hugs and handshakes that Tarath assumed were good bye gestures, and then headed north.

He maneuvered around, once more being certain not to be spotted, trying to see where they were going.

He had been so engrossed with their celebration that he hadn't taken as careful noting of the surroundings as he should have, and only now did he see that he was next to the base of the mountains that had kept this place sealed off for so long. Furthermore, he saw a large tunnel in the side of the base, one that was far too straight and regular to have carved by Gaia's elements, and it was only then that everything fell into place.

That had been one of the tunnels that his own people had drilled into the mountain range, for they had guessed that several of the resources that were to be found here would be too large to be successfully airlifted out of the place by transport, and they didn't want to risk a warp gate out in this place. Thus, they had decided that they would carry materials out on large hovercrafts.

It all made sense now. These creatures hadn't been wiped out. Quite the contrary, in fact, they were expanding, some of the tribes leaving to find new hunting grounds.

A smile came over him once again, and he silently wished the departing members good luck. He'd certainly have to tell the others about this when he got back, there was no telling what they might be able to accomplish. True, they'd have to be a little cautious, as Tarath hadn't forgotten the little panic that he'd caused when he'd stumbled upon that village right before the battle that would have certainly done irreparable damage to these primitive, though clearly intelligent, beings.

It was a few moments before he became aware of it, but when he finally did, he cursed himself for his carelessness.

Near the young hunter he had observed was another one of these creatures, this one female, and if the facial resemblance was anything of an indicator, probably a sibling. Now that the other tribe had departed for parts unknown, she had turned around. Tarath had no idea what he had done, what subtle motion might have given him away, but her green eyes were staring right at him, and he knew that he'd been spotted.

Slowly, lest any abrupt movement give his position away to the other beings, be backed away into the shadows of the forest, hoping that she would lose interest with him. Once the village had faded from sight, he immediately shot upwards, twisting about and flying up into the canopy of the trees, hoping to lose himself amongst the shadows if she did decide to pursue.

"Idiot!" he muttered harshly, having to resist the urge to slap himself.

He had no idea what had happened last time after the uproar that his kind had created, when these pale skinned natives had spotted them as they had marched to battle. Now, whatever that event had been, it was likely about to be repeated, and whatever repercussions resulted from it would be entirely his fault.

"Can't you do anything right?" he asked quietly of himself, shaking his head in disbelief over his carelessness.

A second later, he was knocked out of his self berating by the sound of cracking underbrush, and as he looked out, switching his visor to heat mode, he silently cursed. The female creature was indeed following him, and his mind quickly kicked into overdrive, trying to figure a way out of this mess that he had gotten himself into. Still, he supposed that he should be thankful that she hadn't raised the alarm and gotten the whole village stirred up, which would have certainly been worse.

Completely unaware of his presence some fifty odd feet above her, the young female passed beneath him, and cursing himself, the warrior decided to silently follow her. She had likely not had either the time nor the opportunity to arm herself, and he knew that if something were to befall her, that it would be more blood upon his hands, something he genuinely did not need at this point in time.

It was a good thing indeed that the Reaver decided to follow the pale skinned female, as it was not two or three minutes after he'd begun tailing her that trouble had reared its head.

The Praetor was grateful for his visor, for without the heat sensitive viewing mode, he likely would have never spotted the predator. It was a feline, probably of the same species as the one that the girl's brother had slain, and he noticed it approaching from behind her, its padded footfalls quiet as the breeze that went through the trees, barely audible even with the hearing enhancements of his helmet.

However, this was not to say that the female was oblivious to its presence, as before it could strike, she whirled around, assuming a combat stance. For a moment Tarath was confused, as he had not heard a noise that would have betrayed the feline's presence, before the obvious once again hit him. With ears as large as that, the sentient would logically have superb hearing capabilities. Sensitive hearing or not, though, Tarath knew that this female was outmatched by the cat, which had now emerged from the underbrush, growling softly and barring its fangs.

Still, she stood her ground, saying something in her own language that he assumed was a defiant battle cry. A moment later, he saw the cat tense, and knew that it was about to spring at the girl. As it did so, almost without thinking, he extended his hand, and willed his powers to come forth. They did so in earnest, lightning crackling off of the edge of his fingertips. The Dark Eco lightning caught the cat in mid leap, coursing over its body and snuffing out its life, its yowl turning into a death gurgle as it slammed into the ground and skidded for a few feet, bolts of electricity coursing over its body for a few seconds.

The girl's stance went from that of a person who was on edge and ready to fight to that of someone who was utterly baffled about what had happened. Slowly, she turned, and looked up. Tarath sighed, knowing there was no use in hiding.

"Now you've really done it," he murmured to himself, as he floated out to where he was no longer hidden by the branches of the trees.

The girl's jaw dropped wide open as she caught another glimpse of the dark armored warrior, and behind his helmet, the Reaver frowned, unsure about how to proceed. After all, it wasn't as if they had first contact protocols written down somewhere on what they were supposed to do in the event that they encountered another sentient race. He was utterly clueless, so all he did was hover in the air while he tried to reach a decision.

He found the easiest solution at the moment was to concentrate upon something else entirely, and so he thought about the cat that he had just struck down. He floated down and landed before walking up to the slain feline. A quick glance revealed it to be a female, and he felt as though this second riddle of the night might finally be starting to make sense.

The cat was likely mated to the one that the hunter had killed the previous day, and it had probably gone sniffing around the village after the scent trail. That would certainly explain its proximity to the village, as he doubted it would attempt to attack such a strong encampment by itself. He also knew that some predatory animals formed very close knit bonds with their mates, and the probability that it was looking for a biped or two to pick off wasn't entirely out of the question.

She was down on her knees, bowed low to the ground, her eyes upon the forest floor. For a moment, he cocked an eyebrow behind his visor, not entirely sure what to make of her actions. Was this a manner among their kind? Some means of conveying her thanks for his assistance, or did it mean something else? He tilted his head to one side as he continued to think about it, wondering what in the world the female might have been doing.

However, his thoughts were cut short a moment later by a calling sound from somewhere behind him. Combat instincts kicked in, and before he could stop himself, Tarath had twisted around to face the source of the noise. At the same time, he flicked his wrist and his warp blade had come down and locked itself into attack position, causing a gasp to come from the bowing female, as he realized that she must have looked up upon hearing the noise, and had found herself staring at the Metatron weapon.

Tarath's crimson eyes narrowed behind the visor as he looked out upon the forest, where he could clearly see something moving through the brush. The call came again, and the Praetor let out a quiet 'ah' as he put two and two together. Realizing that it was another elf, the girl's sibling if he remembered the voice correctly, the dark armored Ancient relaxed his stance, flicking his wrist in a manner that returned his warp blade to its inactive position.

A moment or two later, the young hunter burst through the underbrush, his short sword drawn in anticipation of some form of trouble. However, while the young sentient might have been prepared for most of what this valley could throw at him, coming across a being like Tarath was certainly not something he had been expecting. At least, that was what the Reaver deduced when the male came to a grinding halt, his eyes all but falling out of his head while his sword suddenly thumped into the soft earth. A moment later, he too went prone upon the ground, muttering something that the Precursor couldn't understand, but he had a vague hinting at the disturbing notion that they were thinking him some form of deity or another.

Just wonderful, his first full day observing these creatures, and he'd already managed to get tangled up in the local religion.

It was a lot for him to think about for the moment, and so he simply stood where he was, one hand idly rubbing the chin of his helmet as he wondered how in Gaia's name he was going to deal with this minor complication.

Several minutes passed while he mused over various courses of action that he might take, all the while he was well aware of the two siblings who were at his feet, still muttering in that strange language of theirs. It was then that something came up and solved the problem for him, or rather, it took the problem out of his hands. Once more, his Eco monitor began to flash, warning him that it was starting to run low, and that he would need to recharge.

Not knowing what else to do, he slowly lifted himself off the ground, to the further amazement of the male, who had not seen him descend, and shot upwards into the sky, cursing himself under his breath as he wondered what he was supposed to do now.

Dawn came early the next morning, and the Reaver was up with it. He ate a hasty breakfast of supplied rations that he'd grabbed before he'd left. He then recharged himself, and he was on his way, streaking over the mountains and back towards where he'd last left those natives in the clearing.

When he'd finally arrived, it had taken all his training and discipline not to go crack his skull open over the nearest rock.

The corpse of the feline had been removed, but in its place was what appeared to be a tray with some food and what he assumed were some of the village trinkets. Now he certainly knew what was up, they thought he was a god, just lovely. He supposed it was inevitable. After all, they seemed to be somewhere in-between what was the late Stone and early Bronze Age judging by their hunting equipment. They were here, trying to survive and expand, and suddenly, from literally out of nowhere, comes a nearly nine foot tall thing that was covered in some sort of shiny armor, had a weird blade attached to its arm, and the apparent ability to fly and shoot lightning bolts from its fingertips. Was in any wonder that they thought him something beyond mortal?

Heh, he thought bitterly to himself, if only these sentients knew the truth, that Precursors were all too mortal. They died as easily as anything else, the Kinslayer War had taught him that harsh lesson if nothing else.

After that, he became lost in his thoughts, trying desperately to think of what he could do to try and get out of this mess that he had created.

Some hours had passed, and the Praetor now leaned back against a tree, still pondering the situation that he was in.

The first thing that he would have to do is to try and figure out the language of these bipeds, otherwise he was never going to get anywhere. But how was he supposed to do that? He was a warrior, not a language professor… looked like he was going to have to get some help from the scholars of his people.

It was at that time, when fate's cruel hand once more came into play.

There was a warbling noise inside of his helmet abruptly, one that startled him back to reality. After he had gotten over his surprise, he realized that it was coming from his comm. system, meaning that someone was attempting to talk with him.

Puzzled, he switched the system back on, and to his further amazement, he found that Phoenix was staring back at him. His adoptive sibling was in his combat form, and was apparently rather agitated.

"About time I managed to get a hold of you, brother," the Archon growled, causing Tarath to cock his head in a quizzical manner.

"I'm fine, Phoenix," he said, a faint smile upon his face. "I'm out in that valley where we discovered the other sentients. I've been watching them for a few days and…"

"Good to know they're still alive, but we need you back here, now!" the white armored warrior snarled, causing a further look of confusion to come over the Reaver.

"What's wrong?" Tarath asked, now very much concerned.

"I think Kerrog wasn't bluffing when he said that we'd soon find ourselves embroiled in another conflict," Phoenix told him. "The capital was attacked today."

"What?" the Reaver exclaimed, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Who? When?"

"It's difficult to explain," his brother replied, "just get back here as soon as you can."

With that, the comm. line went dead, and Tarath pondered for just a moment why things looked like they were about to come crashing down again now that they were finally on the up and up.

However, he only bemoaned the situation for a second or two, before he blasted up into the air, heading fro where he had left his Stinger.

That was the beginning of the second war, their first contact with the Hora-quan, the bio weapons that the Fallen Ones had been creating to try and turn the tide of the Kinslayer War in their favor. The conflict that would all but destroy his people… a conflict that would give rise to another species as he and his comrades made a final, desperate bid to save themselves and their world.

Tarath sighed as he stared around at his fellow warriors.

How many would die this time? How many Precursors, elves, and Channelers would be dead before this eons old conflict was finally resolved?

&

I know its not the biggest thing I've ever written, and I apologize if it was poorly done, but I figured that you guys had waited long enough.

Also, later this week, I hope to post the first chapter of another story I've been working on, so wish me luck in that.

Now, I believe I owe you some clichés….

Cliché Number Ten

Luddite Rule (or, George Lucas Rule)
Speaking of which, technology is inherently evil and is the exclusive province of the Bad Guys. They're the ones with the robots, factories, cyberpunk megalopolises and floating battle stations, while the Good Guys live in small villages in peaceful harmony with nature. (Although somehow your guns and/or heavily armed airships are exempted from this.)

Cliché Thirteen

The Higher The Hair, The Closer To God (Cloud Rule)
The more outrageous his hairstyle, the more important a male character is to the story.

Cliché's Ninteen through twenty three (Nineteen's been posted, but you need it to understand some of the others)

"Silly Squall, bringing a sword to a gunfight..."
No matter what timeframe the game is set in -- past, present, or future -- the main hero and his antagonist will both use a sword for a weapon. (Therefore, you can identify your antagonist pretty easily right from the start of the game just by looking for the other guy who uses a sword.) These swords will be far more powerful than any gun and are often themselves capable of distance attacks.

Just Nod Your Head And Smile
And no matter how big that big-ass sword is, you won't stand out in a crowd. Nobody ever crosses the street to avoid you or seems to be especially shocked or alarmed when a heavily armed gang bursts into their house during dinner, rummages through their possessions, and demands to know if they've seen a black-caped man. People can get used to anything, apparently.

Aeris's Corollary
Just as the main male character will always use a sword or a variant of a sword, the main female character will always use a rod, staff, or staff based weapon of some sort.

MacGyver Rule
Other than for the protagonists, your choice of weapons is not limited to the prosaic guns, clubs, or swords. Given appropriate skills, you can cut a bloody swath across the continent using gloves, combs, umbrellas, megaphones, dictionaries, sketching tablets -- you name it, you can kill with it. Even better, no matter how surreal your choice of armament, every store you pass will just happen to stock an even better model of it for a very reasonable price. Who else is running around the world killing people with an umbrella?

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (Melfice Rule)
If the male hero has an older sibling, the sibling will also be male and will turn out to be one of the major villains. If the hero has a younger sibling, the sibling will be female and will be kidnapped and held hostage by the villains.

And for your further pleasure, and to make up for the delay, some stuff from the Evil Overlord List. (rules one through thirteen)

My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones that they themselves cannot see out of.

My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.

My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.

Shooting is not too good for my enemies.

The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.

I will not gloat over my enemies' predicament before killing them.

When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought I'll shoot him then say "No."

After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.

I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labeled "Danger: Do Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labeled as such.

I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum -- a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.

I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.

One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.

All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.