Disclaimer: PG-13 for language, blood, and mild violence.

Note: This is the revised and edited version of 'The Voyage of the Exile'. And for my definition of 'black-mage', please look at the chapter called 'Magic Theory' in 'The Saga of Eruûne (Part I: The Boy and His Sword)'. You'll have to scan down the chapter a bit to get to where it is, though… And for a description of what I call a 'dark-elf' read chapter 15 of 'The Saga of Eruûne (Part II: The Web of Destiny)'. Neither of which are necessities, but if you really want to know, then go for it.. ^-^;;

Genre: Sci-fi/Action, with a twist of Parody towards such wonderful things as: 'Final Fantasy' and 'STARWARS', meant for pleasure and laughs only, for I love those two things dearly and wouldn't even think of bad-mouthing then… (except on the subjects of: Episode 1 & 2, Aeris, Selphie, Tifa, Kuja and Zidane ^-^)

By the Way: Each chapter starts out with a section in italics that has very little to do with the actual chapter, so far. Actually, these flash-backs/flash-forwards (you're not supposed to know which) are very incredibly and vitally important to the story, so please do not skip over them, okay? And, the main character does not have a name that you (the reader) know of as of yet, so I refer to him as many things including: the young man, the black-mage (in training) etc. He does, in about the next chapter, or the one after that, get a code-name (Van), so don't worry!

Summary: It is the day before the coronation ceremony of the new Empress of Crescent, which happens to fall on the Festival of Mecha—the Crescentine celebration for their independence from the Galactic Order. A mercenary group called the RABID SQUIRRELS is sent on a mission to kidnap the new Empress at her ceremony, no questions asked. Little do they know, they are about to get involved with a world-wide government scandal, and between that and the assassins sent after him, the black-mage-in-training, code-named Van, has a lot on his plate…

E

(Formerly Called: 'STARWARS-Final Fantasy with Elves, Dammit!')

Version 7.0

The Voyage of a Black-mage to Foreign Lands

I

There it stood, tall and dark before him. The Temple of a Thousand Years… An immense black structure reaching up to the midday suns, standing in the center of the Crater. From where Aariadûr Van-Lyönas (Ahr-ee-ah-du-r | Vah-n | Lee-OWN-ahs) was standing, it looked like a lone, inky butte split in half by a mirror, so the sun shone on either side of the symmetrical pyramid. He wasn't used to there being two suns… only one of them was visible from his home-planet. But he was no longer there, and he'd never go back. There was no way. No way in hell he'd go back to that primitive world and be discriminated against, hated, and known as an 'exile'.

He stepped out of his hover-speeder, and set foot on the barren ground—his black-leather boots barely made a mark in the hard Crater sand. This was strange. He'd almost gotten used to the ever-shifting sands and space-ports scattered on the outskirts of Darl Crescent, and now he'd traveled somewhere else. So far away, in such little time. A week before, he'd have thought it impossible to travel at such rates. But things had changed, and he had migrated.

Aariadûr walked into the temple, through the open space in the polished black-stone walls. It was a curious place, the Temple of a Thousand Years. That long ago, a meteor crashed into Crescent, and left its mark—the Crater—and in the center of that suddenly stood the mysterious stone monument. No one knew how it came to be—other than appearing there after the Impact—and no one knew really what it was. A temple, of course, but of what? There were no engravings of texts or pictures showing any religion, and no altars or statues. Nothing.

It was bare and black, all out of the same deep stone. Nothing would scratch it, for it was the hardest substance yet known to the Crescentine inhabitants. Not even a laser from the newest line of artillery riffles would graze its stone architecture. It just sat there, erect like a vertical shadow cast by one of the skyscrapers of Darl Crescent. Aariadûr stepped across the polished stone floor—which was made of the same ebony substance as the rest of the temple—and looked down to see his reflection staring back at him.

He adjusted his belt and his heavy leather surcape. His folded blood-red desert tunic hung off his slim body loosely, and his red-brown pants were a size too big. Pushing his short light hair out of his eyes, Aariadûr continued investigating the strange temple. His long, braided queue bounced against his back as he walked, and he could hear the clicking of his boots on the floor, echoing off the flat polished black walls.

The Temple was a curious place, having only one large hall in its center, and not even any secret corridors leading off to underground prayer rooms like the Pyramids of the Ancient World. It was dimly lit through a square-shaped hole on the uppermost part of the front face near the central vertex at the top its pyramid-body. The orange twilight flooded in a beam, landing on the floor right where Aariadûr was standing. He closed his eyes, and felt the warmth envelop him.

The sound of footsteps switched his alert senses back on, and he swerved around, gripping his blaster tightly with one hand. Aariadûr quickly raised the weapon as soon as he was fully turned around, and clicked the switch to load it, waiting with his slender, dark finger pressed against the trigger. The figure was foreign to him, looking not of anyone he'd ever laid eyes on before. Tall and lean he was, with skin like the sands, and short blonde hair atop his head, crested with a infrared visor for seeing through the desert storms on a speeder. He wore an artillery vest, with two blasters each in a holster attached to two black belts, each hanging slanted off his waist. The newcomer had gloved hands, and wore a long-sleeved dark trench-coat over a blue shirt, and dark pants tucked into strap-up boots.

A scar ran across his forehead, slanting down to the top of his nose. His eyes were dark and brown, and they lit up the smirk on his narrow face as he stood there, a silhouette with the light of the suns flooding in the open doorway behind him. He looked to be around twenty-five in human years, maybe a bit older….

"Aariadûr, you bastard," the person said, the command stern but his voice almost laughing, "You're not supposed to be here."

"I have orders to be here." Aariadûr spat, aiming the gun at the tall man's heart. "Go away or I'll shoot. If you know my name, you'll know that I'm serious. Leave."

"I'll leave," he answered, turning around halfway, and then stopping. The black mark of Dragon was on the back of his coat. "But you're coming with me."

Aariadûr shot the gun, not at the young man, but at the floor by his feet to prove that he was not joking around. The bullet glanced off the ground, not leaving even a scratch, and the stranger bent down and picked it up. "I'm serious. Go or I'll shoot for real."

"You wouldn't shoot an old friend like me, would you?" the stranger inquired, holding the bullet between two fingers.

"I don't know you. You don't know me. Go. Now. I'm going to shoot you if you don't leave. I haven't wanted to ever use this, but I'm not an amateur. My shot is perfect. Go, or I'll show you what I mean."

(7 years after 'The Saga of Eruûne' takes place, no matter WHAT I said the date was in that story)

248 A.E.

A large starship hovered above the ground, preparing to land on the outskirts of the Spaceport City known as Ecaspo IX. The desert sand near, around and underneath the mammoth vessel blew out in all directions, filling the air with a dusty haze. As the starship landed, the sand began to subside, and the harsh winds blew the dust off towards the endless wasteland. As the ship's passengers stepped out, they saw the outer wall of the city looming ahead of them, like a fort made of hard sandstone. They set foot on the blistering hot sand, and began to make their way to the city as their ship flew off into the horizon rising more dust in its wake.

They entered through a large metal archway bolted into the southern side of the wall, and found themselves in a busy, crowded boulevard, lined with houses and shops. The buildings were stacked on top of each other, sometimes even twenty stories high, all made of the same dull sandstone. Winding streets ran through the gargantuan city like a labyrinth, most ending up as dead ends. Alongside the roads were venders in brightly painted booths selling anything and everything anyone could think of, from intricately embroidered tapestries, to dismantled sand-cruiser motors. However, money wasn't what they were after; most stores were bargain shops, and the ones that weren't took Imperial Credits, a kind of charge like a credit-card.

Just like how there wasn't any one currency for the city, there wasn't any one race of people who inhabited it. Many different beings were attracted to it, or stayed there for a night on their way somewhere else, and ended up setting up residence in an abandoned warehouse, or something of the sort. This city, as well as many others, was somewhat of a mid-point for interplanetary trade routs. Things from all the other planets would stop here, on Crescent, for a while, and then are shipped off to their destination. Along with the cargo were, of course, hitchhikers.

Any one from elves to humans could be spotted in the streets, blindly pushing their way through the crowds, and carelessly shoving lesser beings out of the way. Tied up creatures, resembling thirty-foot high lizards with shorter bodies, and stubby tails, brayed annoyingly throughout the streets, waiting for their master to untie them. The thick dry air smelled heavily of deep-fried food, and animal residue.

Hanging from wires attached to the distant roofs of the buildings were flashy banners, advertising for the festival that would take place on the first light of the next day. Everyone was excited, including the former passengers of the starship, who gazed around themselves in awe at the frenzy of gambling, drunken alien people.

As they passed by an alleyway, one of the four was pulled away from the group by a tall, cloaked figure. He watched as his fellow crewmembers disappeared into the crowds, never knowing he was gone. One black gloved hand was clamped around the hostage's mouth, and the other held both arms behind his back. As soon as the other three passengers were out of sight, the figure let go.

"GAH!" exclaimed the freed hostage, stumbling backwards, and falling over a smashed can, "What the bloody hell do you want with me? Tell me before I fry you, slime-o!"

"I don't quite know," the cloaked person said, "I'm just following orders."

"Orders from who, sewer sludge?" the young man, a black-mage-in-training, inquired through gritted teeth, "Tell it to me now, or I'll fry you!"

A quick bolt of lightning produced by the cloaked figure cut him off in mid sentence. It hit the ground right in front of the young man, and was meant as a threat, not an attack. As the passenger floundered backwards from shock of the spell, his captor threw off his cloak to reveal his identity as a tall, lanky boy with tawny blonde hair that fell rakishly over one eye and skin half a shade darker. His eyes flashed brightly—like a tiger's—deep bronze on the outer rim and around a slitted pupil, shiny orange on the inside, and he had a long horizontal scar across his nose just under his eyes, looking as if it was made by a sharp knife or wire. He wore a black high-necked tank top, and loose baggy indigo pants that were tucked into metal-buckled knee-high leather tanker boots. The newcomer looked to be around eighteen or nineteen in human years, but the young man wasn't sure.

"Don't mess with me!" he shouted at the young man, "Or I'll fry you!"

"Shape changer?" the former-passenger shouted, "Demon, what are you?"

"I'm a merc who uses magic," the boy stated proudly, getting up off his knees, and standing up straight. "But other than that, it's confidential information that stuck-up dark-elf black-mages like yourself aren't supposed to know."

The young man grimaced and tried to push his way past the mercenary. However, the blonde boy held him back, and pinned him to a wall with a gleaming knife to his throat. The black mark of Dragon flashed golden on his arm as sunlight glinted on it. As he saw this, the young man grimaced further.

"What do you want with me, street-merc?" he inquired, clenching his hands into fists and pressing his head against the sandstone wall to gain at least two millimeter's distance between the knife and his neck.

"That, I cannot tell you either," he sneered. "But you're coming with me whether you like it or not."

"Tell me where," he ordered again, "And I will consider another alternative to shooting you right now." The black-mage gripped his black blaster in its holster, his finger clenched around the trigger.

"Ever heard of the 'Temple of a Thousand Years'?" the mercenary inquired.

"I will not answer your question until you let me free."

"Fine, fine," the boy sighed and sheathed his knife. The black-mage-in-training instantly began to bolt out of the alleyway, but the mercenary stopped him by kicking a row of garbage bins in his path. "Don't go."

The young man said nothing to this, and gripped the gun tighter, contemplating whether or not he should take it out and shoot.

"Come with me. There's a fine pay in it for you." The mercenary suggested.

"How much?"

"It depends," he shrugged. "If we successfully finish the job, then, oh… somewhere around 7000 credits."

"7000?" he stammered. "Wait… who's 'we'?"

"That's confidential, also," the boy grinned.

"I'm very sorry, then," the mage said, pushing his way past the trash bins. "I have a very important meeting to go to, so if you will excuse me, I'll be on my way."

"Oh no you won't," the mercenary boy was quick as the lightning as he jumped in front of his hostage and pinned him to the wall again. "Your snobby comrades probably don't even know that you're gone, much less care. They're probably on a flight outta this dump by now, never knowing you ever existed."

He knew it was true… but he still said nothing.

"This is the chance of a lifetime for some mage-in-training like yourself, dude," the mercenary continued. "7000 credits at the least, how can you pass that up?

This question gained another annoyed glare from the mage. "Look at it this way, you disgusting slimeball," he retorted coldly. "You're some bastard off the street who kidnaps me in an alley and offers me a job. Do you think I actually trust you?"

"I guess that does make me sound pretty much like a criminal," he laughed. "Sorry to do this, man, but you have two choices… Number one…" he pushed the knife to the young mage's throat once more, "You come quietly. Number two, I force you. It's your choice."

"What about number three…" the mage began. He did a quick swerve around, and would have ducked and kicked his captor in the stomach, but the mercenary stumbled forward, the knife cutting into the back of the mage's neck.

Instead of coming in contact with flesh, however, the knife merely cut the long braided queue on the back of the mage's hair. The limp braid fell down to the ground, and with it went the young man.

"You…" he growled, clutching his cut rattail. "You… you… BASTARD!"

"Sorry, man!" the merc put his hands up in a defensive position. "I didn't mean to, you just suddenly turned and I lost my ground… be thankful that it didn't cut your neck!"

"I wish it had!" he screamed, his temper far lost in a sudden wave of anger and hatred. "At least then I would be dead!"

"Isn't it better that you're not…?"

"You could never understand…" he snarled. "Not some stupid low-life asinine fool as yourself…"

"Actually—"

"Get the hell away from me!" he brought his gun up and pointed it at the mercenary's head. "Don't say a word more, and stay put."

The young black-mage-in-training, keeping his gun in the same position, walked around to the other side of the mercenary, back-kicking the row of trashcans down. Still with the gun to the tall mercenary's head, the mage began to retreat slowly out of the alley-way.

"It's futile." The mercenary told him. "You'll never find your crew in that crowd, man. Not even on a normal day; but today is the day before the Festival. There's over two million people out there."

"Tell me how to get to the Star Port," he demanded, not shifting the gun's position one millimeter. "I can find my own way to the Council of Mages."

"With your hair like that?"

The black-mage shot the mercenary a loathing glare and said nothing.

"They'll never understand that it was an accident," he continued. "Isn't it some shit like: if a mage-in-training cuts of his/her rattail that means they turn traitor against the Council? There's probably a buncha' bastards lookin' for ya right now, dude."

Still, the mage said nothing. He knew that the mercenary was correct, but he wouldn't say that and give up. There had to be some way for him to get back into the Council… he hadn't turned traitor! Some idiot had mistakenly cut his hair trying to slit his throat! How could he explain that? They wouldn't believe him; hell, they wouldn't let him back in even if they believed him.

"So why don't you come with me and get those 7000 credits?" the mercenary swiftly got to his point. "Come on, man! It's not like you're really gonna get let back into the Council, so come! You're getting paid real well, it's like the best job you could ask for!"

"What is the job?"

The mercenary let out a weak laugh, and sighed. "Well, truth to tell, uh… I… um…"

"What is it?" he demanded to know, coldly.

"I really don't know, myself." The boy grinned. "But hey, it's good pay and—"

"Never." The black-mage growled. "I'm not going with some moronic bastard like you on some unknown mission. The pay makes it too conspicuous. I don't do doughty adventures like jumping gorges to get holy relics."

"How about kidnapping Empresses?"

"If I have motivation, maybe."

"Well, then we'll just find you some nice, good motivation and—"

"I thought you said you didn't know what the job was." The mage eyed him suspiciously. He looked rather unarmed…

"Well, I don't!" he argued. "But I know some things about it. It has something to do with kidnapping the New Empress of Crescent tomorrow, and we need some high-class mage like you to help us! None of us know why we're doing the mission, or where we're gonna hafta' take her afterwards, but the pay is so good that we couldn't refuse, you know? Dude, we like really need your magic!"

The black-mage brushed his snow-white bangs out of his eyes arrogantly and turned his dark head away. "I have no reason to help you."

"I have no reason to not use this gun and use a stun-dart on you right now!" the mercenary exclaimed, pulling out a hidden weapon. "But I don't want to take you by force."

"Aren't you already?"

"I'm persuading you, dude," he explained. "I'm not tying you up and dumping you in the back of my speeder. I'm giving you a choice—"

"And I say 'NO'!" the dark-skinned black-mage-in-training shouted right close to the mercenary's cat-like ears.

"Geez!" he clamped his hands over his ears in pain. "I'm not deaf, bastard!"

The mage turned around and walked away, putting the safety back on his gun and shoving it into its holster on his hip. He kicked one of the metal trashcans angrily, and kept going. However, once he reached the ever-changing current of people, two men dressed in dark, armored suits grabbed each of his arms and slapped a mute over his mouth. They wore helmets with visors over their eyes, and heavy-duty glove and boots, like soldiers. On the back of their jackets, the seal of the Council of Mages, white like the sun.

Swearing under his breath, the mercenary bolted forward. One of the henchmen pressed a button on a mechanical device attached to his armored glove, and a red laser-beam was shot forward, nicking the mercenary's face. He jumped and brought down his foot on top of one of the soldier's heads, knocking the man to the ground. The black-mage-in-training seized the opportunity, and did a back-flip, twisting the man's arm backwards, for it was clamped onto his. One of the henchmen pressed another button on his glove, and started to call for reinforcements, but the mercenary switched his blade out and cut the man's throat.

When he looked back at the black-mage, he saw the other dark-soldier dead on the ground with the young man standing over him. The young man ripped the mute from his face, and ground it into the dirt street.

"I told ya so," the mercenary shrugged. "They know where you are, dude, and they can track you wherever you go. But back at HQ, you won't hafta worry about any of that shit."

"Why's that?" he asked a little reluctantly, gripping his arm where the henchman had held it tightly.

"Cause 'Daggar has that all covered," he answered. "She does hacking stuff, and can erase their tracking mechanisms from wherever its implanted in your body," he waved his hand vaguely. Computers weren't his strong-point.

"Shit…" the mage turned around, and saw rows of dark-dressed soldiers belonging to the council, advancing up through the streets about a mile away. "There's more of those creeps."

"And plenty more to come, I betcha," the mercenary finished. "How about we make a run for it? You're no longer safe with them tracking you. I'll take you to HQ and…"

"How many other people are going to be in the crew?" the mage asked, wishing that he hadn't. "I prefer working alone."

"So now you're coming?"

"Well, I have nothing else to do, since you ruined my life and all." He scoffed. "I might be able to bribe my way back into the Council with 7000 or so credits, after all."

END OF CHAPTER I

Note: Whew! That was much longer than all the paste versions. More interesting, too, I think. Did you guys all like that chapter? Please review and tell me what you thought! And remember: criticism is always welcome. The more mistakes you catch, the better the story will be (after I make the changes), right? And this time, I might actually put up the next chapter!

By the Way: If any of you read any of the past six versions of this story, please erase them from your minds. Especially if you read 'STARWARS-Final Fantasy with Elves, Dammit!', because that version was completed and all-together a piece of unholy shit. Thanks! ^-^