The Legend of the Lupe: Part Five
|Polador groaned, pain shooting through his joints. He hauled
himself upright, trying to ignore the dull ache of the back of his skull. Concentrating,
he used his Heal ability, and felt not all, but some, of the pain melt away. He
gamely started limping towards the door, and entered the central room. He collapsed
in the middle of the room, feeling the sunlight pouring through the hole in the
ceiling warm him. A silhouette blocked the light, and Polador lifted his head
to see what it was. A starry Pteri descended slowly, wings fluttering frantically,
and landed gently next to Polador.
The Neopet started walking around Polador in
"Are you happy now?" he asked angrily. He snapped
his beak, coming dangerously close to snipping one of Polador's whiskers off.
"See, this is what becomes of evil, monstrous beings like yourself. They're
betrayed almost as soon as they swear their allegiance."
Polador looked up, trying to see the Pteri's
face, which was silhouetted against the strong sun light. "I fear you are mistaken.
I am no evil, monstrous being. I'm just an ordinary Lupe."
"Sure, and I'll be a Mynci's uncle," jeered
the Pteri. "Of course you're evil. You and your partner in crime have just unleashed
one of the most evil beings in Neopia." He thrust his face up close to Polador's.
"And you say you're not evil?"
Polador looked confused. "Well, yes. I'm not
evil. I've just made a terrible mistake. You see, my friend and I thought we
were releasing a noble warrior from wrongful captivity. But the noble warrior
ended up being…"
"…a monster of horrific proportions?"
Polador nodded sadly. "I can't believe we were
fooled so easily. Huh, who has a name like Farolt anyway? What a fool I was
to believe his story of being a warrior."
The Pteri sighed. "His name is Farolt. And he
is a warrior. Or at least, he used to be. Now, he's just a…ghost of his former
self. And how do I know you're not evil? I should finish you off right here
Polador was horrified. "Please believe me. I'm
not evil. That monster just stole the body of my best friend."
The Pteri scrutinized Polador's face carefully.
He concentrated on his eyes especially. He looked deep within, and saw an honesty
he had not seen in any pet for years. He nodded, and said gruffly, "Okay. I
Polador breathed a sigh of relief.
"But," the Pteri continued, "you'll have to
help me kill Farolt."
"What?!?!" said Polador in shock. "But Farolt's
in my friend's body! I can't kill my own best friend!"
The Pteri looked at him sternly. "You friend
no longer exists. There is only evil in his body now. The only artifacts that
could have possibly brought him back were lost many, many years ago."
"And what were they?" asked Polador out of curiosity,
trying not to imagine what it would be like to kill his best friend.
"Well, let's see…I seem to remember a strange
metal holder of some kind."
"Yes, for the sacred artifacts."
Polador rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What
did this holder look like?"
Now it was the Pteri's turn to rub his chin.
"Well, it was gold, looked kind of like a three armed candle holder. Lots of
fancy inscriptions, engravings, you know, that kind of thing." Polador hauled
himself upright and started walking back into the chamber where Farolt had been
released. With every step, a spasm of pain jolted through his left shoulder.
He started walking around the chamber, using his Sun Ray ability to illuminate
"What are you doing in the sacred chamber?"
the Pteri squawked angrily, flapping his wings crossly as he waddled after Polador.
Polador looked back from his searching, and was about to answer, when he realized
that he recognized the Pteri, now that his face was no longer a mere silhouette.
"You're that building inspector!" he said.
"Please." replied the Pteri, sniffing in a superior
way. "That was merely a disguise, a facade, a masquerade."
"So you're not really a building inspector?"
"Of course not! How would I know so much about
Farolt, if I was a mere inspector?"
"Good point. How do you know about Farolt, anyway?"
"I, for you information," said the Pteri pompously,
"am, Tiki Hati, the ancestor of the great Tiki Lota Pettle."
Polador stared blankly.
"The great magnificent sorcerer?" Tiki Hati
prompted. Polador blank stare remained.
The Pteri sighed loudly. "Tiki Lota Pettle was
the High Sorcerer to the great Coco chieftain, Tiki Taka Toko."
"I know who he is!" Polador said brightly. "Well,
who he was, anyway. He has a plaque on a rock."
"Very clever of you." Tiki Hari said wryly.
"Now what is your name, and what are you doing?"
Polador resumed searching. "Polador, and looking
for the artifact thingy respectively."
"Well, Polador," Tiki Hati said, "Do you know
what the chances of the artifact being here is? Probably, I don't know, something
like twenty billion to one. More probably thirty billion…"
Polador straightened up suddenly. "I have it!"
he cried. He held the dusty relic aloft, cobwebs still clinging to it. Tiki
Hati stood dumbfounded.
"Well, I never." He managed to gasp. He shook
his head, trying to resist the urge to question apparent miracles. Just be grateful
for them, he reminded himself. After all, they were going to need all the luck
and miracles they could get.
Farolt halted suddenly. He sniffed the air hungrily like a wild animal, taking
in a lungful of air. His sensitive nose detected a faint scent in the air. Farolt
sniffed again. There it was. Strange, yet oddly familiar. Strong and woody,
but with a slight tang. He struggled to recall where he had smelt that intriguing
odor before. His lips curled into a nasty smile as he remembered. Farolt turned
abruptly to the left, still sniffing the air. He continued carving a path through
the forest, regularly inhaling the fresh island air to make sure he was on the
right track. The track that would lead him to his prey.
Polador followed Tiki Hati into the central chamber, pausing only to grab
Thalion's backpack, which was still slumped on the floor where Thalion had thrown
it in his haste and zeal. He shook out its contents, and ignoring the food (mostly
Lupe Treats) stuffed the other contents into his own backpack. He hefted his
backpack onto his shoulders, and hurried after Tiki Hati. The Pteri was already
waiting above ground in the clearing, tapping his foot impatiently. Polador
hauled himself up by way of his rope, and looked around. He instantly noticed
the crude path Farolt had smashed through the jungle. Without a word, he started
following it, taking care not to trip on wrecked boughs or hurt himself on jagged
broken ends. Tiki Hati preferred to soar above the treetops, scanning the ground
for any sign of Farolt. An hour passed, but Polador was still wearily trekking,
and Tiki Hati was still on the wing. Polador called for a break, and slumped
down onto the forest floor, settling on a deep layer of loam. He leant back
against tree, and sighed. With Farolt possessing super-Neopet strength, how
could they possibly catch up, he thought sadly. Tiki Hati fluttered down next
to him, and lay down on the loam.
"So, Tiki Hati." Polador began, trying to make
polite conversation. "Why are you so concerned about Farolt and the whole unleashing-of-an-evil-monster
Tiki Hati stood up, and brushed leaf litter
from his feathers. "Remember, I am the only living ancestor of Tiki Lota Pettle.
Since he was the Neopet who trapped Farolt in the first place, therefore it
is my duty to my heritage to prevent him escaping." He glared at Polador, before
drooping his head and staring dismally at the ground. "However, in that aspect,
I have failed. But, I shall recapture Farolt once again, before he harms any
"Yes. He destroyed masses of Coco warriors before
he was magically captured. It was a massacre. He was a good Lupe, before grief
converted him to a vengeful maniac."
"What caused his grief? It must have been something
pretty bad to turn him insane."
"Ah. That is where history clouds the facts.
I believe from ancient manuscripts that Farolt believed his true love had been
kidnapped by a tribe of Cocos. Indeed, that is the popular belief. The manuscripts
say that he failed to find his love, and became mad with grief. However, when
one delves deeper, one finds that Farolt also later rampaged throughout Mystery
Island in a fit of rage, destroying anything and anyone in his path."
Polador whistled. "Whoa. He must have been some
"Yes, indeed he was. For when he became blinded
with rage, he sook out some…help."
"What kind of help?"
"The worst kind. Obsessed with revenge, he swore
an oath for vengeance. That oath included slaughtering every Coco on Mystery
Island till he found his beloved. He knew that no ordinary warrior, no matter
how skilled, could accomplished the feat, so he turned to the darker, more…evil
side of Neopia."
"You don't mean he started playing Deckswabber?!?!"
Tiki Hati gave Polador a puzzled look. Polador,
a strict believer in good manners, gave back a sheepish grin. "Hehe, don't worry
about that. I've always just had this weird thing… feel free to continue."
"I will," said Tiki Hati icily. "As I was saying,
Farolt sought help from evil beings. No one really knows who, although there
was strong indication in ancient records of some kind of deal with Gubrid Nox.
A deal giving Farolt unearthly strength. No one knows what Gubrid Nox got in
"I think you mean Hubrid Nox."
"No, I mean Gubrid Nox. The present day Hubrid
is merely one of his descendants. And the only descendant, I'm glad to say."
"How could a Lupe possibly make a deal with
such an evil Neopet! And a Chia at that!"
"Remember, he was blinded to all but the desire
to take revenge."
"But, assuming Gubrid was as bad as his living
descendant, he must have killed scores of Lupes!"
"Hundreds, actually. Gubrid was one particularly
nasty member of the Nox family."
"I still can't believe any Lupe would make a
deal with a Chia like that."
"My dear friend," Tiki Hati said gently. "I
do not believe that you ever been in the throes of a savage rage. Am I right?"
"Well, true, I never have been as angry as you
describe Farolt to be. I suppose it could be possible." Polador admitted grudgingly.
The knowledge he had just gained weighed heavily on his mind, and deep in his
heart he almost felt a pang of pity for the poor insane Lupe. But any pity that
might have existed disappeared the second Polador remembered that Farolt was
now in possession of his best friend's body.
"Anyway, at the infamous legendary Battle of
the Three Palms, my ancestor, Tiki Lota Pettle, imprisoned Farolt within an
"How did he do that?" said Polador, looking
a little puzzled.
"Well, I won't go into details, but in order
to imprison Farolt within the amulet, Tiki Lota Pettle basically separated Farolt's
spirit from his physical body."
"Wow." Polador had no more questions to ask.
He took a long drink from a Bottle of Water. He passed the drink to his companion,
who did likewise. They stood up stretched, and continued on their journey once
Farolt sniffed the air once again. The scent was no longer faint. It was strong
and pungent, filling the air invisibly. Farolt knew he was close. He brushed
aside a bunch of ferns, and grinned. The grin was not one of joy. It was of
the cold happiness that could only be gained from one thing- revenge. He allowed
the ferns to spring back into place, but kept a small parting from which to
spy from. He observed the scene carefully. A fire, in the middle of a large,
obviously deliberately-made clearing, was burning merrily, its warm glow competing
with the bright sunlight. Surrounding the fire was an assortment of various-sized
primitive huts, constructed of wood, bamboo, and palm leaves. Some were elaborate
and raised off the ground by poles, while others were short and squat. Farolt
licked his lips as a young Coco came out of the huts with another, slightly
larger Coco. They played on the ground with a plain ball of woven plant fibers,
chuckling happily with the deep, rough laugh that was so unique to the Cocos,
regardless of tribe or family. In the background, a few adult Cocos prepared
food, while others practiced their aim with spears, using a dummy (which looked
suspiciously like Punchbag Bob) made with bunches of palm leaves and bound with
vines to maintain its shape. But the consistent thing that all the Cocos shared,
in spite of size, age or activity, was the general appearance of happiness and
contentment. Farolt, despite the dangers of being heard by the nearby Cocos,
growled softly to himself. He would have his revenge yet.
He crouched low to the ground, making barely
more noise than a tropical summer breeze. Using the dense jungle foliage as
camouflage, he made his way behind a hut. The rectangular hut was mounted on
short, thick wooden poles, raised off the ground by about half a metre or so.
The walls were made of split logs, and the roof was thatched with hundreds of
palm leaves or palm fans. Farolt couldn't be sure. Farolt crouched behind a
bush, and gracefully leapt high into the air towards the hut. He soared through
the air, and on the downward curve, came within a whisker's breadth from the
hut's back wall. Which, fortunately for him, was all part of the plan. All four
of his paws shot out faster than a Cobrall striking, and each latched onto a
rough wooden plank. He thudded softly against the planks, as each claw dug deep
into the wood, gripping tight, once again with phenomenal strength. Farolt's
body hugged close to the wall as he hung on. Beneath him, a ball slowly rolled
towards the jungle, and lodged in a clump of long grass. He heard the voice
of a jabbering Coco come closer and closer.
The same young Coco who he had seen playing
ball earlier, emerged from beneath the house, looking around inquisitively.
Farolt gritted his teeth and resisted the strong urge to jump down and tear
the Coco to shreds. The Coco walked directly beneath Farolt, and scratched his
head in confusion. Well, the area of his body that would be classified as his
head. His jabbering suddenly increased in speed as he stepped forward and spotted
the ball. He bent down, and picked up the ball. He burbled incomprehensibly,
and turned around to head back for his game of ball. He saw Farolt spread-eagled
on the back wall of the hut, and froze. Farolt, in a single well-placed swipe,
tore the arm off the Coco. The poor creature howled in agony, no longer joyfully
burbling. With just a few a more swipes of razor-sharp claws, the Coco was reduced
to shreds. Farolt openly strode into the clearing, holding part of the young
Coco aloft. The Cocos, stunned, stood motionless for a few seconds, before the
realization that one of their tribe had been destroyed sunk in. Once it did,
however, they charged en masse, howling death cries, calling for the blood of
the killer. Farolt stood impassively, and one by one completely obliterated
the Coco tribe. There was no mercy. There were no survivors. Farolt curled his
lip into his familiar sneer once again, and brandished a flaming chunk of wood
taken from the still-burning fire in the middle of the clearing. One by one,
he set each hut alight, plumes of smoke billowing into the sky. The dancing
flames slowly devoured the dwellings, and the fire was reflected in Farolt's
eyes. Dancing, swirling, ever burning. The fires of revenge.
To be continued…