The Shambala Chronicle
I do not own Conquerors of Shambala. Literally. I never bought it; it's not upstairs resting in my DVD player or on top of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I never saw it; therefore, I don't own it.
Chapter two is up. Not too many hits so far, but I got an old hand back on board (welcome back, Tressa), so it's good. I know it'll pick up as I keep going.
I'm not entirely sure how long this story'll be yet. I doubt it'll be 42 chapters long, like last one was, but you never know.
Enjoy:
Entry 2:
Since returning from Central, my days have fallen into boring routine. Before I joined up, I never threw myself into routine; too boring, waaay too boring. That's all changed now; now I can't live without it.
Every morning, I wake up, go downstairs, and enjoy some breakfast. I still live at home, despite the fact that I'm old enough to have my own place. I don't work and I don't do a whole hell of a lot around the house, but for some odd reason, my parents never complain. They're so supportive. I think it's because they're just so glad to have me back and alive.
My mom usually has a nice, hot, heaping plate of pancakes and sausage waiting for me. Being in the army, my taste buds went through the crapper with the crap they called food, so now I savor each and every taste that comes into my mouth. After all those months of slop, I never take real food for granted ever again.
After breakfast, me and Jeffie go out and shoot some hoops. Now this was a familiar pastime. Back in the old days, whenever I wasn't busy with track or dates, I would always have time for him, hanging out and playing.
It's weird, but me and my brother never had an always-fighting relationship. I never got pissed at him (except for one time when he took one of my "special" magazines for "scientific" reasons), and he never gets pissed at me (except for that one time I got pissed at him). I dunno, I guess he's just looked up to me too much to be a pain in the ass brother, and I'm just too cool to really bug him, so we get along. I've always been the one to look after him too. Even if I get him into all kinds of trouble, I'm always there to bail him out, too.
So we play ball for a while, then I go upstairs and rest a little. I've been doing that a lot. I guess you could say I go through life as if I were in a trance. My dad thinks it's that part of me died in that hospital when Regazzi gave me the news, but I'm not really sure. I don't feel too different, other than the fact that I'm not as mischievous and laid back as I used to be.
After resting a while, I throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and go for a jog up the giant ass hill to the cemetery. It's a good work out- about a mile and a half up the hill, in addition to the two and a half miles to the hill, then back, about eight miles in all. That may seem like a lot, but to me, it's a breeze.
My leg still hasn't fully healed. True, I don't have a limp anymore, and it feels fine most of the time, but sometimes, especially when I'm running, it gets sore really fast. And one time, I felt burning pain where the three bullets made contact with the skin. I think it was on the anniversary of the day I got shot; kinda funny, huh?
Needless to say, though, it kinda sucks.
After the run, I go home, have some lunch, and then walk around town. In case you don't know, Risembool is a small enough town where you know pretty much everybody by sight, if not by name. And seeing as how my dad owns the drug store, everyone knows me by name; especially the women.
But these days, whenever one sees me in town, they usually just give me a pleasant little smile and a nod. They know what I've been through- hell, the whole world does, or at least those who read do- and they keep their opinions to themselves.
It really bugs me, how different I've become. Before I left, I was Mr. Jock, the cool kid in school. My grades weren't always the best, but the teachers still loved me anyway. I couldn't go a whole weekend without having a date with at least one girl. I was the track star; me and my friends had the place eating out of our hands.
But these days, all of my friends are now either joined up or just finishing up their tours. And, of course, some of them didn't come back in one piece, or in about three cases, alive. Risembool certainly did a crapload of help for Amestris' army.
Especially in the one case…
Which lead me to today's walk; on the last mile or so coming home, I hear a giant barrage of laughter and loud talking. It comes from the last house on the block. I go for a look and see a pleasant surprise: Alphonse Elric, fresh back from training with his teacher.
It's still kind of weird seeing Al in his normal, twelve-year-old body; whenever I think of him, I usually see a giant suit of armor and a blood seal attached on the inside.
I suppose I should get into the whole story:
Edward Elric, known to the world as the "FullMetal Alchemist" and his brother Al were neighbors of mine growing up. About eight years ago, or thereabouts, their mother Trisha died, and they, being the skilled alchemists they were, decided to bring them back, despite the fact that human alchemy is illegal.
The result came in Ed losing his left leg and Al, his entire body. In order to save his little brother, Ed also gave up his right arm to attach Al's soul to a suit of armor. They were found by the Rockbells- Winry and her grandma, Pinako- both automail experts. They patched Ed up with an automail arm and leg, hence the name FullMetal. They left to join the State Alchemists- Army alchemists, in other words- and find a method to somehow bring them back to normal.
A lot of people have asked me how I knew about the Elric brothers' situation; it was, after all, a heavily guarded secret. I never tell them, but the truth is, I happened to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. About three days after the surgery, I stopped by the Rockbells to deliver some goods from my dad's store, and I "accidentally" overheard Ed telling Winry all about it. Unfortunately, Granny Pinako picked that exact time to show up, and boy, did she let me have it. I was allowed to live, but I could not tell a soul about what I had heard- a promise I was all too eager to keep.
That was the last time I saw the Elrics until years later, when Smokey, Schmitty, and myself encountered them in Central. We got a lot of trouble and grief over the Elric brothers, but we never took it out on them. They were, after all, just kids.
In the end, Al finally got his ten-year-old body back, with absolutely no recollection of his time as Iron Man. But, as with all things in life, it came at a price; Ed had disappeared. To this day, his whereabouts are known only to God. We all miss him.
He was just another casualty in a long war…
Winry was one of those hit hardest. Deep down, I think there was a love interest that had never been properly explored between the two. She put on a strong front in front of others, but… I don't know.
Well, I'm done for now. I'm gonna go see what's on T.V.
I can't begin to tell you how many people I got complaining to me last time that Scotty couldn't have possibly known about Ed and Al. Well, to that, I say: here's how.
Maybe now, more people will read.
Chapter Summery:
With nothing to lose, Scotty prepares for a confrontation with Al in hopes that maybe he could gain some clues into what happened to Ed.
Review please.
