Wheatley's Story: Part 2

[Wheatley 24]

((Just as an OOC foreword, I'm posting this story for two reasons. The first is that I got a request (Thanks, NiNjAxR3M1Xx (Fawkes), who made the request, and everybody who liked the story, this wouldn't have happened without you). The second is that it's just plain fun writing stories like this for my character, and if people keep reading them, I'll keep writing them. Thanks, and enjoy the sequel to Wheatley's Story.))

Wheatley sits on the steps of his new residential city, Ariel, and thinks about the first time he left Kal'Urguan. Both of his parents had died, and he was responsible for one of them. A single tear dropped down his scarred and dirty face, and landed with an almost inaudible plip on the cobblestone steps. His friend William walked over and put his hand on Wheatley's shoulder. "Friend, what is botherin' ye?" he asked. "Dwarves don't cry!" Wheatley looked at him and asked "Can I tell you a story? All will be explained." William sat down next to him on the rough pavement and nodded. "Well, it all began when I left Kal'Urguan at age sixteen..."

I had little supplies, and one destination: the elven forests. I was set on finding my childhood friend, Ragon, because I had nowhere else to go. I was still an irresponsible young dwarf with barely the ability to wield a stone sword. The trails were dangerous, and all I had to eat was one cooked porkchop, one apple, and the supplies to make one bowl of stew. As the cold, dark caves of Kal'Urguan began to fade into fog, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. As if my mother's and father's deaths had never happened. But then that weight crushed down on me harder than ever, like gravel in a cavern. They were dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. So I kept walking.

The trails to the forest were dangerous and littered with monsters. Covered only with a leather shirt, iron boots, and leather pants, I feared for my life. Holed up in my wooden hovel for the night, I would hear the groans of those cursed to walk the world at night as reanimated corpses, and clanking of the bones of those who were skilled in archery in life. The spiders would hiss, and not turn to ashes with the sun, as the others do. I would even catch a glimpse of pigmen, their golden swords gleaming in the moonlight, their glassy eyes staring into my very soul. In the morning, I would climb out, and begin walking again. As the forest town came into view, I knew that I would reunite with the only person willing to call me "friend".

I made sure to step over the dandelions, as they were always his favorite flowers. I sheathed my sword and took a deep breath in. It smelled of damp soil, and uncut grass. Home. I was finally home. I trotted to Ragon's house, pulling an arrow fired by a skeleton out of my elbow. I knocked on the crude wooden door, the sound thundering through the quiet forest village. The children stopped playing, and the adults started staring. It creaked open without anybody pulling it. "Hello?" I called. "Ragon? It is me, Wheatley!" But there was no answer. There was a note on the fridge. It read:

To whom it may concern,

We, the Treerunners, have moved to Laurelin.

After the death of our son, this house just

held too much sadness. Take whatever you want

from his chest, it holds too many memories.

I lifted the note to see the second most horrifying thing I had experienced in my life.

In loving memory of our youngest son, Ragon. I scurried upstairs and found a chest that had in a child's handwriting, Ragon's Stuff. Keep out! In it, I found a beaten up leather outfit, and a wooden toy sword. "No. No. No, no, no, no, NO!" I kept repeating it to myself, thinking it would undo the past. How silly of me. I stumbled down the loud stepped and out the door. The tavern was right across the path, so I wobbled over to it. Sitting in a stool, I shouted "Barkeep! Ale, on the double!" I threw two shiny minas on the counter and slammed my fist down. "Aren't you a little young to drink?" the tavern owner inquired. "Ain't you a little old to not SHUT UP? NOW, ALE!" I retorted. He slid down a jug of the smooth, delicious elixir, and I gulped it down in one swig. My speech began to slur, and I called for another. My vision began to blur. Another. The world began to spin. "Barkeep! Whur th' hull is mah...hic...ALE?!" I managed to choke out. "Right here, sir." The last thing I remember from that night is drinking the last glass of ale.

I woke up in a bed at the tavern. Bare-chested, I sat up, and immediately passed out from the throbbing pain in my head. The second time I awoke, I managed to sit straight up. It took many tries, but I managed to gather my things, and head out the door. The tavern owner saw me out by saying "Your friend's dead, you stupid drunk, get over it!" I had nowhere to go. Nowhere. I was completely alone. One day, I put all of my things in a safe, hidden spot. Then, I waited until nighttime. Salty tears, mud, and sweat matted my long beard. I walked to a desert, and found the thing I was looking for. The beast among beasts. The walking stick of dynamite known as...the creeper.

"I'm going to hell anyway. Might as well take you with me!" is the thought on every creeper's mind. They were created from only the blackest of souls, and mean only to destroy. I looked at the deep sockets that are usually known as the creeper's "eyes" and saw only deep hatred. Every footstep took an eternity as the embodiment of evil stepped toward me. The soft sifting of sand underneath our feet could be heard for miles. Then, hissing. An explosion. Silence...dark, unending, silence. A bright light, and...Ragon stood before me on an empty, silent plain. He sat. I did not. He looked at me, straight in the eye, and visions of him flashed before my eyes. Him laughing at an unfunny joke his little sister made. Him waiting for me on his doorstep. His murder.

There were the slashing of swords, the firing of arrows, and the screams of an innocent boy. The faces of the murderers were hard to see in the dim moonlight, but they were there. Dwain and Sfya Treerunner, his parents. As the vision ended, Ragon looked at me with complete seriousness, but still said nothing. I then knew what this meant. I had a reason to live. Revenge. "Gods of Aegis," I shouted, "hear my pleas! Give me another chance to redeem myself, and bring me to the world of the living!" Another white flash. I awoke to find myself in the cloud temple of Aegis. Smiling, I set off to gather my things, and kill those responsible for my best friend's death.

"Wheatley, that still doesn't tell me why you're sad." William complained. "Today was his birthday." was all Wheatley could muster without bursting into tears.

[no longer active 734]

Another great story

[Neri 3590]

Freya wonders how these books keep appearing in her library.

Hmm, another great novel. I really should meet this author. If his stories are true, he is surely quite a dwarf!

[Bob_Stonefoot 5]

Quite thee story, i almost feel like i am thar with this dwarf, tha details make it feel like i am watching a play, please, write another one for this be a great tale and wish ta see how it continues...

[Wheatley 24]

I'm glad you all liked it! ((Part three probably won't come out until Thursday or Friday, because I have school, and I want to experiment with 1.8 single player, but you never know. :wink: ))

[V0idsoldier 1139]

((*looks around* Um... are you... aware that uhhhh... your name is from portal 2? /end sarcasm

Great story mate you are a talented writer by any standard!))

[Wheatley 24]

Thanks!

[Boomack21 124]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.