The staff of Chaos spun slowly as it levitated above the alter it was housed upon. Like its eight brothers, it was created douring the 'war of the wizards' and had been a powerful weapon for who ever wielded it. But the lives it had taken had in turn given something to the staff, to all of them really, and what it was given was a volitile nature, and a despise of all living things. It often lashed out flakes and bolts of raw cosmic power. The only known element, Nodradanium, had been moulded into a wall around it. This strange opaque yet greenish element buzzed with it's own magical weight, pulling the power of the staff to it when an outburst occured, thus protecting the rest of the fabric of the universe. This was not the only protection and gurad of the staff's.

Each alter was raised a hundred feet into the air on tall powers, that were themselves covered with two inch long spikes. Around the base of each tower was a gravity spell to stop a wizard just floating up. As well as that, each crypt that housed a staff had a unique immortal beast to look after it, and the tunnel leading to the chamber was riddled in as many traps as think up able by mortal man. The entrances themselves each had seven feet thick doors, which blended perfectly into the stone surroundings so it was hard to find them, and the a riddling curse was placed on the front of each, each asking a different riddle, which changed one a week. The location of the nine tombs was also burried with the wizards who had set up the whole fiasco.

Many wizards seeking power would have sold their mothers to learn how to get to just one of the staves. Many would have given much more than that aswell. As the oldest, the staff of Chaos was the most powerful of the nine, but knowledge of them had become all but myth and legend some five thousand years later, with non even coming close to finding where the staves were hidden. Although they could not be destroyed, if they weren't rememberedthen they wouldn't be used. Or at least that was the theory of the wizards who had locked them away, hoping their awesome power would never again be unleashable upon the face of the planet. They could not have been more wrong in their predictions, for the wizards that intombed the staves were not aware of what had been created, adjoined to each one to find them if they were ever lost. Nine sacred amulets were spread across the four corners of the earth, their secret hidden in the riddle written around the rim of each amulet, in a language not understood by mortal men, but by elves who had once been the companions of men, and walked the earth as freely as man does.

It was the elves who had unwittingly made the staves, and the adjoining amulets, under the tyrany of the magical war lords who had demanded them, and then slayed the creators once each one was done. These had died in the war, and the death of the last one signified the end of it all. The last one to do had been the strongest of all of them, and wielder of the staff of Chaos. With his death, his soul hid itself in the staff, unable to escape due to the curse that the dead had put upon it, that would always be the case, unless his heir laid a hand upon the terrifying magic weapon.

The amulets themselves were not without some magic of their own, but they were more focused on giving abilities to aid the wearer, than being of any magical value, aside from finding their partner craftsmanship, the staff. Each amulet had a depiction of an animal upon it, to show their significance to those who knew of them. Over the years these have passed from hand to hand, often down only a few family lines, the bearer soon finding out their true abilities.

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In 1924, an archaeolgical dig a few miles out side of Cairo uncovered a tomb with no pharaoh laid to rest in it, burried under the ground. The small pyramid consisted of three levels. The first, second and most of the third were just trap after trap. Yet on the bottom level, in the very last room was a box on an alter. The three archaeologists who were working upon the dig approached it carefully. The hyroglyphics around the edge of the alter told of how one of the early kings of Egypt had received a strange amulet, giving him above human powers. Becoming greedy, he sort more. Through his life he managed to track down two more of the powerful amulets. On his death bed he realised all the trouble they had caused and ordered them burried in this tomb, by his most loyal servant, in the hopes that the wars they had started would never happen again.

The archaeologists took it as fate that there were three of them and three amulets, though they didn't believe the strange metal disks actually held any true power, but would be worth a lot on the global market, which could fund further digs. Feeling the importance of their work must continue, they removed the amulets from the tomb, each wearing ones of their own. History is silent about whether they learnt the secrets each amulet held or not. With time they grew older, and two of the archaeologists fell out with each other, cutting short their friendship. Each gave their amulets to their sons when the second world war began, in the hopes that it would protect them from the devastation and the destruction, like good luck charms or something. Earnest Pawsian, Arnold Smythe, and Claud Van Dryé never saw those amulets again as their sons kept onto them even after the war had finished. Their sons, Charles Pawsian, Eric Symthe, and Paul Van Dryé learnt some of the power the amulets held, that much history will reveal, after all it was the reason they were unwilling to return them.

But a decade past, and nothing much came of their meddling with the amulets. Each soon realised that they would never be able to amount to much with them, and so settled down to start a family, forgetting all about them as they were pretty much useless for those three holders. Four more decades past, with the three of them growing older and older, and inevitably, closer and closer to death. By the late 1980's each was a grandfather. The rift between the Smythe's and the Pawsian's still existed, though non knew any more what it was over. Arnold was the first to pass over. Before he died, he grugingly made a change to his will for his first grandchild to receive the Snake amulet he had inherited from his own father. Then one cold december night last year his soul became at rest.

Three months later Paul became very sick and soon joined hium, also leaving his Eagle amulet to his first grandchild. It was May by now, and the last old holder of the known amulets, Charles was suffering from cancer. He had made the changes to his will just like the other two had done, leaving his Tiger amulet to his fifteen year old grandson who's name was....

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"Esaer Issick Pawsian!"

"What?" The boy yelled back, annoyed that he had been awoken from his deep sleep in his comfy bed.

"Come down here!" The booming feminine voice hollored back up the stairs. He was sure he hadnm't done anything this time, so grumbling he decended the creaking stairs. "Boy, I had to call you three times! whats wrong with you?"

"I'm tired...whatcha want?" He grumbled.

"It's nearly ten in the morning! just because you're off school doesn't give you the privelidge of staying in bed so long! When I was your age...why we were up at the crack of dawn! And in future you will not say 'what' you will say 'excuse me' or 'pardon'! In my day we had respect for our elders! Now! What I called you down for was this!: Your Grandfather, on your father's side is dead, and he's left you something in his will!" No matter how hard she tried she seemed to end every sentence with an exclamation mark, or that's how it would be if it was written down.

"Like what?" Esaer asked, scratching his face, and trying to open his eyes a little more.

"Like I don't know! go get dressed! we are going to go see his lawyer!" He wished that the 'we' she had used was the royal 'we', but somehow he doubted it. She wasn't even married to his father yet, and already she was acting like she ran the place. The divorce had been hard on him, and his grandfather had been one of the stable elements in this during the entire process. He had stopped crying a long time ago, but that didn't mean he wasn't saddened by the whole affair. With him gone 'She' would become intollerable, and an even bigger bully. His father had told him that he had to get used to her, as she was going to become a part of the family. The only person that had been slowing down this intergration was now dead. But Esaer had known for a while about his cancer, and had been expecting him to die soon. That didn't stop it being any less of a shock though.

He quickly got changed. once he was done he opened his door and started to descend down the stairs. Then he stopped. Jennifer, his near step sister was throwing a tyantrum, which her mother was trying to sooth. "It's not fair! how come he gets something and I don't!" he heard her brawl, with her fake cry, and presumably fake tears. Her mother was like putty in her hands. Jennifer had forced all of Esaer's relatives to treat her as part of the family, whenever he got something, she had to get something aswell. Her mother could see nothing wrong with this though as in her eyes, her daughter was 'Thy Perfect Child, Absolutely Flawless In Every Way', and better than anyone and anything, that included God. All Esaer saw was a spoilt brat who had always gotten her own way. 'If she joins the family, I'm adopting myself out' Esaer swore to himself. She was the leader of a gang of bullies at school, that, since her mother and his father had started going out, had made it there life mission to make his life a living hell, both at home and at school, especially as she insisted on inviting them over, which her mother agreed to, believing that and friend of her daughters was welcome in 'her home'.

It wasn't 'her home' it was his fathers. He had tried to get the few friends he had remaining over, but she wasn't having any of it. Any friends of Esaer's where automatically a drug dealing, vandalistic, mindless thug, this happened to include Jamie who was a priests son, and attended church on a regullar basis.

Even outside his house, at the far end of the garden, he could still here the liitle bi...brat wailing her head off. He sat on the swing that was back there. 'Just one bottle of poison, a rock tight alibi and no witnesses' he pleaded to the great beyond. As ever its reply echoed loadly, and the reply was complete and utter silence. Esaer looked up at the cloudless sky and scowled. After half an hour Jezzelle came out and ordered him to get into the car. He bit back the nasty thoughts he was thinking about doing to his nearly step mother and her horrid daughter, and walked sullenly through the house to the car. Jezelle followed him closely, locking all the doors as she went.

Jennifer, as always was sitting in the front seat. She was still pouting, her face red and her arms crossed. Esaer could see this all in the side mirror as he approach and carefully got into the back on the opposite side of the car. It was his father's car, but when ever Jezzelle was in it she had to be the one driving. Simon got out of the house just before she locked the door and joined his son in the back. He had driven home from work when he had found out about his fathers death. It had already taken a huge toll on him. He looked really drained and out of life, though that could just have been having to endure another one of Jennifers tantrums. He couldn't even manage to smile, or even look up. The drive seemed a long and labourious one. While Jezzelle was driving no music was allowed. No conversation was allowed. And no one was to look at the driver in the mirror. That rule seemed to have been aimed directly at Esaer.

Half an hour later they pulled into the legal firm that Charles Pawsian had hired. They all got out. Esaer was surprised at the quickness of events that had lead them here. They had been told early this mourning that the old man had died late the night before, and by the looks of it he had left instructions with his solicitors that the family were to go straight there in the morning.. The four of them entered the building. "Can I help you?" The elderly receptionist behind the desk asked.

"We're hear to see Mr. Wentworth, it's about the death of Charles Pawsian." Simon explained in a calm and collected voice, though he was prbablly raging inside.

"Certainly sir, he's expecting you, on the third floor, second on the left as you come up from the stairs. He's expecting you." She added, returning to her paper work.

"Stairs! isn't there a lift?" Jennifer asked horrified at the thought of actually having to done some hard physical work.

"Nope, lifts broken." The receptionist replied without looking up. Jennifers face went pasty white at this, and her lips became very pursed.

"Mother?" She growled through gritted teeth, believing that stern words could fix anything.

"I'm sorry my little darling, if it's broken it's broken!" Her mother replied, again finishing the sentence with an exclamation mark. If it was even possible, Jennifers face went even whiter at this stark comment. They headed up. Just as they reached the floor the lift opened and the receptionist climbed out, walked past the group swiftly and knocked on the door. Esaer bit his lip hard to stop himself from laughing.

"Mother!" Jennifer demanded, seeking recompence.

"Not now!" Her mother harshly told her. It was obvious that Jezzelle hated anything legal, unless it was in her favour. 'Note to self, becoming a lawyer is now a good idea' Esaer thought to himself, making a mental note, for future reference. Simon Pawsian tapped gently on the door after the receptionist had left the office and headed back towards the lift.

"Come in." A deep and aged voice called from the other side. The four of them shuffled in and took seats. Simon and Esaer were his closest remaining relatives, though Simon had a brother in Africa, and a sister in France. "Right, lets get down to the knitty gritty. Charles had quite a substantial wealth saved up when he died, he as set some asside to help pay for his burrial, and the rest he has divided as follows. 25% to his daughter, Evelyn, 25% to his youngest son David, and 50% to his eldest son Simon. His reasoning for this is as follows. 1)Both Evelyn and David moved away from him, when he needed them the most, 2) His son and oldest grandchild visited him regually, and 3) they had offered to have him move in with them when he became ill. A copy of his last will and testiment has been sent to the lawyers of his youngest son, and daughter. The money that he left for you, Simon, he want to be equally divided between you." At this, both Jezzelle and Jennifer perked up a little.

"And I quote 'I wish my son to have half the amount I left to his family, and my eldest Gradnchild, Esaer to have the remainder. As for that Horrid woman he's contemplating marrying, I wish her to see nothing of my money, or that little spoilt brat of hers. This serves both of them right. Ha ha ha. I wish the money to be put into trust to protect it from their grubby hands." By this point both Jezzelle and Jennifer had gone stone white, an annoyed twitch even began to form under Jezzelle's left eye. " I also leave Esaer my medals from the war, and anything else that is in this box, which will be left in the safe, along with this document' It goes on a bit stating the conditions of release of the money, which is fairly simple for the both of you, 'I wish Esaer to receive his inheritance as soon as he leave home, provided that this is after he is 16, and for Simon, when he has thrown Jezzelle montgommery out of his house, and found himself a more suitable bride.'

"I get the impression he doesn't like you or your family madam?" The lawyer asked, looking up for the first time at Jezzelle. She was scowling at the legal document he held in his hands.

"He also wishes that when you arrive, the mourning after his death that my receptionist tell you that the lift is out of order, and then use it infront of you. Very peculiar request, I must say. Anyway. He also wishes his house to he sold, the proffits being divided like the rest of his income was. That's most of the impotant stuff...." The laywer trailed off.

"Simon! what are you going to do about this?" Jezzelle imediatly demanded, swivelling on her chair to face him.

"Say 'Sorry Jezzelle, but you allready knew he didn't like you and Jen.' Mr. Wentworth, you said something about a box of medals?" Simon said, changing subject and turning back to face the wisened old man.

"Ah, yes." The lawyer got up and limped over to the safe, turning it left then right a few times to enter to combination, and then opening it. A small polished ebony box was inside. Mr. Wentworth removed it and hobbled back over to where he had been seating.