Sequel about fictional worlds: falling in love and the „vortex“

As I mentioned in my first blog about fictional worlds, Shakespeare became a starting point – for an incredible amount of things to happen – but, specifically, for thinking about fictional worlds. Because it was the first time I became conscious that I had entered a fictional world, and why having a fictional world to “live in” is so important for me. That happened basically because I was forced out of another one, called “Middle-earth”, where there was suddenly nothing to explore for me anymore, and for which I had neglected still another one, the world of the Icelandic sagas. And I kind of panicked because I realized that, after what had happened, I would never be able to go back where I had come from, and didn’t want to. So, I suddenly stood there “naked”, in the middle of - or, much worse: WITHOUT any kind of utopia. As I have just learned, not from Google but watching yet another series, “Madmen”, “utopia” has two roots in Greek: eutopos and outopus. So, it doesn’t just mean “no place” (respectively: “a place that is not to be”!) but also: a bad place. And I know I tend to be dramatic sometimes, but in this case it is still not even close: compared to where I had been before, this was a really shit place to be.

So, it didn’t take a lot for the “magic” to work on me, I suppose. Which doesn’t explain what I shall never be able to explain: WHY it worked in this way, already when I read the first sonnet, as no other text ever had and probably ever will. Though this experience without doubt informed every act of reading since, kind of selecting what is really good and interesting, because, since then, I know so exactly what I want. So, one of my first requirements for Shakespeare’s world to “become” a fictional world was met to the utmost degree. And it couldn’t be expressed any better than by what my nephew Felix said concerning “The Lord of the Rings”:

“I am feeling as if I really was in this world, together with the elf, and the dwarf, and the hobbit.”

The FEELING was exactly the same in my case, I am sure. But it instantly led to a question I brought up in my first blog about fictional worlds because I definitely DIDN’T want to be there WITH THESE PEOPLE. So, unlike in the case of “Middle-earth”, an explanation was required right away for WHY Shakespeare’s world became a fictional world for me – which was something that had already happened. There was no doubt about it. And now it becomes suddenly very interesting and productive that I have started on “Suwa” in my previous blogs because there I have exactly the opposite instance of a fictional world. Concerning Shakespeare’s world I had nothing more but my reading experience to vouch for it to be a fictional world. It doesn’t meet any other OBVIOUS requirements for a fictional world. Whereas concerning Suwa I don’t have the experience of living in it. It is not a fictional world I have lived in, or would want to. Although there were moments when I connected with it and when my imagination was kindled. For example when the author described the “ice planet” to me, where there are gigantic ice-dragons living in vertical tunnels in the ice, feeding on worms which feed on ice, like earth-worms do on earth. When there is some kind of disturbance the dragons come out of their holes, kind of rising into the sky. And I could see them looming hundreds of meters above the protagonists, who had just landed their space-ship on the planet, like gigantic kites moving slightly in the upcurrent, beautiful and shiny like “airy” glaciers beneath the sun. There my imagination covered for the film that wasn’t there for me. And as “Suwa” is a film, not a book, there won’t be many of these occasions – unless it is finally produced as a film during my lifetime. It is a world that exists only for one person so far, but the sketches of text and imagery I retrieved didn’t leave me in any doubt that there is, in fact, a fictional world. It is a fantasy world with its own solar system consisting of nineteen planets (and a sun) which are inhabited by so many different peoples that I cannot keep track of them if I don’t make an inventory sometime. And they are not just “there”, there are backstories, potentially for all of them, which are told occasionally, in case of need. But I automatically assume that all of this exists “somewhere”. Maybe it doesn’t, and it is just a habit of reading to treat a text of this kind as if there was a whole world behind it. But without any doubt it is possible, and there is a potential source for all this information “in” the author whom I could ask about it. Of course there is no way of knowing how much there really is - not even for him! But, in any case, there is much more than is displayed on the surface.

So, there we have the two “poles” of my interactive definition of a fictional world: on the one hand a conscious being living in this world, on the other some kind of textual structure with the potential of becoming a world. And, what is really fascinating for me at the moment: one of these poles can be virtually missing, and it still works. Of course there is “something” there, in every case, but it can be very weak, and there is still the evidence of a fictional world. In the case of Suwa there is obviously some structure which we associate with the structure of a real world, but it is not “the real world”, otherwise we wouldn’t observe the structure. (Another fascinating observation I have made lots of times: that repeating something, or producing a parallel structure, is a means of analysis and producing evidence for us. Which, I suspect, is the reason why we tell stories, and, in fact, have to.) There are certainly fictional worlds which operate “within” the real world, but the model case of a fictional world is this kind of “closed” fantasy world where everything refers to something “within” in the first place, and only indirectly to a parallel “real world”. But, my first surprising find thinking about fictional worlds: there are all kinds of fictional worlds that are not at all like this.

For example the world of Shakespeare – which doesn’t even have a name, just an author. Where the author is virtually the only integrating element. And it was never intended to be a fictional world, by the way, which is the whole point of worlds like Suwa, or Middle-earth. And there are no protagonists you are supposed to connect with, for one thing because there are different protagonists for every play, of course. The plays are not connected in any way – except for some parts of the “histories”. So, if there is a “world”, in a literal sense, it is different for any of the plays. Still I would never give up this notion of a Shakespearean world, with lots of ties to more than one “real world”, and, not least, a lot of imagined ones.

But the world having no narrative centre is not the only reason that “we” don’t connect with these people in a direct way, that is, by putting ourselves in their place. The main reason is that it is a world of the stage – and the act of reading is only completed, in my experience, by seeing or imagining the plays on a stage. And a stage is, as I realized just now, thinking about it, a very unlikely place for a fictional world to be created. Of course, in bygone times, when there was no tv or even novels to read, it was the only place where this could happen. But, at least for me, there is much more “space” for an imaginary world to unfold when I am reading a book or even when I am watching a dvd. In the first case it is rather self-evident, but the second observation surprised me. I think I have now hit on the answer to a question which disturbed me, especially since I realized that I probably preferred watching “The Crucible” in the cinema to seeing it on the stage. Though, having just had the one experience, I can’t really know. Being so fond of great acting, I should be the same as all these people who pay a lot of money to see their favourite actors “live” on the stage. And maybe I would be if I had the money but, as it is, I am not even keen on it – though nothing could stop me buying the dvd if there was one … Probably having both kinds of experience and comparing them would be great, but I am sure that it would be A TOTALLY DIFFERENT KIND of experience. And it is not even about getting “too close”, rather the opposite. I think the difference lies in the very nature of the stage situation where I cannot help seeing the actor AND the character – unlike when I am watching something on screen (where this MIGHT happen as well, but only as an exception). In a way, for me, it is the presence of “real” actors that creates the “fourth wall” that can get “between” my imagination and the character the actor has created. Not always, but especially when it becomes most interesting and compelling for me, I am conscious that there is still someone else in the room with me. Some ominous presence my thoughts cannot penetrate, but which is still there. And of course this is an interesting experience, which I know I have liked a lot in former times, but which is not productive, or relevant, where my relationship with the stage character(s), and the text, is concerned. Which is what I am interested in first and foremost.

And this might have something to do with how important this “event” of creating a fictional world has become for me. Many people fetishize actors and want every information they can get about them “as a person” – whereas I actively avoid coming upon this kind of biographical information, especially about actors I really like. Even to a point that I probably sacrifice the occasion of gathering information about their carrier, or parts of their biography that would be relevant for how they work, and which I would very much want to have. And with authors it has been (and still is) the same: I never understood why people always want to know what kind of a person they are, and why they might have written this book, and so on. Though it might be enlightening sometimes, even might make me understand the text better, I don’t really care about this kind of information. I think this is because I have some experience, though unpublished, as a writer of fictional texts. And I know that only then something interesting might arise from my relationship with the text I am writing when the act of writing is completely separated from any real life situation or experience. There are a lot of exceptions and variations on that theme of course, but I uphold this as a general rule. It is kind of a parallel to the fact that accomplished actors never say “I” when they are talking about the character they are playing. Everything that happens “between” them and their character can only happen between two separate entities. As in my interactive definition, you always need the two poles for any kind of “energy flow”. Especially to produce the kind of “lightning” you need to let an original thought “materialize” in a sentence, or to create these unique moments that define an original character on screen or on a stage. So, to get THAT CLOSE, it is imperative to keep your distance.

I think this kind of thing, and how we deal with the “fourth wall”, is probably quite different for different people. I just noticed that I like to suddenly come upon the fourth wall on screen, where I usually don’t realize that it is there until, very seldom of course, a drop of water or mud hits the camera lense. Or, more often, that I become conscious of an actor “acting” – which might either be a great thing or the opposite. But if this happened often it would annoy me, or at least interfere with my own “fictional world” in this case. In the same way it interferes with my reading when I am thinking of the actor or the author as a real person, kind of “talking” to me. So, being a world of the stage, even when I am just reading,  “Shakespeare” is a very “unlikely” fictional world, at least for me. Even to the point that I still doubt and question its existence. Nonetheless it became a fictional world for me in a way that was like a complete amalgamation. It never happened in this way before, though some of my past fictional worlds had been quite intense as well. But this was an entirely new experience. I never felt being THAT close. It was kind of a parallel to something that happened about a year earlier and has only grown since, which was to fall in love “completely”. This had never happened before as well, and I wouldn’t even have considered it as an option for me. In fact I couldn’t believe it. It was (and is) EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED. NOTHING was missing. And this is of course still something I doubt and question very much because it appears so unlikely. In a way I still “doubt” Shakespeare as well, thinking: this cannot be SO good EVERY TIME it happens. But I have come to trust by now that it is, and will be. And, in the same way I cannot imagine ever to fall “out of love” again, I am sure reading Shakespeare will always be like this. And I think this is because I know exactly why it is so important for me, and what I am getting out of it for myself.

About falling in love I have just found the explanation – which I already knew, but I was extremely pleased to find it “in” Shakespeare. And “on the stage”, seeing the production of “Romeo and Juliet” by the Kenneth Branagh Theatre in the cinema. It was worth watching, though in some respects completely failed the expectations I had for this play. But there was something I totally loved, and which made watching it really worthwhile. It was the way Romeo as well as Juliet were visibly CHANGED by falling in love. They both appeared to have left all of a sudden the place of uncertainty where they stood in life and were changed into the people they were meant to be. Yes!, I thought: THIS IS WHAT IS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN in this play. This is why their commonplace love-story is relevant AS SUCH, not just for the sake of the dramatic relationship between two families. What I saw was certainly there, “in” the acting, but the reason I was able to see it was that I had had the experience myself. And there was of course something about the experience that had become vital to me – in the same way that there was something in Shakespeare’s world that “clicked” with me in this way and makes me enjoy every new encounter like this. In a sense, it must contain EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED as well. And, in the same way as in the case of falling in love it has everything to do with the person in question, in the case of Shakespeare’s world there has to be something which creates this structure in my brain every time I enter it. Though, what it is exactly is much less obvious.

But falling in love with it is only one, though probably the extremest, way of establishing a relationship with a text to create a fictional world. I probably fell in love with ”House of Cards”, but I didn’t fall in love with the “Spooks”, and  certainly not with “Hannibal”.  (Which doesn’t mean that there aren’t parts of it I totally loved, but it still isn’t that “convincing”.) And I don’t think that I fell in love with “Vanity Fair”, though I am not quite sure. But no, I didn’t, it certainly was a fling, and it is still good, reading it again, swallowing eagerly all the bits I had missed. But it certainly isn’t “me”.

So, the part about falling in love I have established in probably much more detail than necessary. But the other part, about why this world is a fictional world, remains unclear. There has to be something, though, in the text, that makes me connect with it in this way and “start” a fictional world. And it is probably not one “thing”, or singular structure, but something quite complex that I was looking for and found here, more than anywhere else. Parts of it I have certainly covered in my blog already, calling it “structure and beauty”, or establishing the structure of the world as being basically a “realistic” world – where people are driven by their needs and fears and predicaments, not by the magnetic poles of good and evil. It is also a world full of wonderful humour and exquisite irony, which is often only revealed to my eyes when I see it on the stage. (Who would have thought that “Titus Andronicus” can be so much fun, as demonstrated by the latest production of the Globe Theatre!) All these features, expressed so beautifully, may account for the effect – in the same way a loved person is probably loved for many of his/her features. But I am not quite content with this. When it comes to this person I can fall completely in love with, or this world that gives me everything I ever wanted, there has to be something that made this happen once and for all.

Thinking about this, I came upon a term I remembered from some literary context: the vortex. I don’t remember anything specific about it, and am probably using it incorrectly. I just remembered this idea of a DYNAMIC structure drawing the reader towards the centre of the text. This “vortex” movement, working in an ideal way, describes exactly the kind of experience I am writing about. Concerning a literary text, the vortex might be something infinitely complex, impossible to penetrate or draw out. I can only try to stop the movement at one point to look at it. And maybe find the unifying factor which makes the vortex complete and isolates it from the surrounding world as this unique and recognizable structure. I can only speculate, but I think that the central structure of Shakespeare’s world is a “language-based” structure. It is Shakespeare’s inimitable use of words, and metaphors, and cadence, which makes almost everything in his world look so unique and special and true. The way it is expressed affects every single element of this world and provides it with beauty and significance. There is no randomness, and everything that happens in this world happens “through” language – to a point that it is in a way much more important to HEAR the actors than to see them. (As in “Macbeth” where an insignificant actor “struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is HEARD no more.”) That almost everything has already happened going “through the ear” before it actually “happens”. An ideal situation which I have encountered just once, in the recent production of “Othello” by the RSC which I described in one of my other blogs. This verbal structure, almost impervious to the wear and tear of time, is what we inherited of Shakespeare. It is basically what we can HEAR - though there would probably have been a great deal of pageantry and “action” for the eyes as well. And, at least in my case, the kind of energy created by this structure sparks creativity on my part, so that I automatically begin to imagine what these characters and situations might look like on the stage. And it certainly works in the same way for real directors and actors, giving them as many options, and so much to discover and to “use” as inspiration, as they could possibly want. Wherever I look (or listen) I behold this immense expanse of freedom and almost unlimited possibilities.

Though there are certainly many of these “language-based” worlds to be found in literature, the only other one of “my” fictional worlds which is kind of like this is currently “Vanity Fair”. And there the language is not so predominant a feature for me as the irony which permeates this world. Reading “Vanity Fair” I am always conscious of the irony, and enjoy it, whereas, reading Shakespeare, I always enjoy the language as such. There is a strong unifying structure, strong enough to separate the world of “Vanity Fair” from every real or imaginary world, but it is comparatively “weak” as a fictional world nonetheless because I only stay in it as long as I am actively reading. It didn’t create any permanent residue in me, apart from a memory of great reading. Which might even rule it out as a fictional world.

Of course, fictional worlds based on books are per se language-based worlds. To establish the difference though, one of my other fictional worlds appears to prove useful: the world of the “Making of England” series of historic novels by Bernard Cornwell. In this case I enjoy the writing so much that I have begun to read them aloud for maximum fun, even creating voices for the numerous characters, always failing to remember them, or being extremely pleased when I do, meeting one of them again after a hundred pages. But, as much as I love it, I know that the language is not what “keeps” the world “together” for me. It is this time-travelling experience which I want to get from historic novels and so seldom do. So that I usually don’t read them. But Cornwell convinced me, probably with his first paragraph, that I actually WAS in ninth century England (which didn’t exist then, by the way …) The time machine at work, so to speak. Of course the language is one of the important features that create this illusion of reality, but, in this case, just a part of the experience, not, kind of, the experience itself.

So, at the end of this blog, I have actually established my interactive definition in a way that satisfies me. With myself as a reader who wants to be seduced, and the vortex that “wants” to draw me in at the other end. And it is not the kind of definition that “kills” a living process, but one that is beautiful in itself, describing a living process in a way that is dynamic and leaves room for things to happen. And I am looking forward to using it further, investigating all my fictional worlds.

Suwa – the second episode

According to plan, in this blog I am going to publish the second episode of „Suwa“. Even though I haven’t really warmed to “Suwa” there are bits of it I like very much. In this episode it is a scrap of dialogue which would become one of my favourite bits of dialogue in literature, (immediately following the little chat from “The Hobbit” between Thorin Oakenshield and Gandalf after their encounter with the trolls – which, of course, nobody will have remembered - and which currently comes second after the bit from, I think it was "Hrafnkels saga": "No need to gawp like that! The leg is gone." (My inadequate translation of the German: "Du brauchst gar nicht so blöd glotzen. Das Bein ist ab." which is probably a good translation of the Old Norse text.) And I think I even found an adequate translation for it.   

In the meantime I have met with my nephew Noah again, and I have collected a great deal more about this fictional world. The seventh episode has been a marathon session, whereas the eighth has been mercifully short, basically a long fighting-sequence. And I have secured a lot more of the “art-work” which is getting increasingly brilliant and detailed. Somehow I had expected that I had to be fast to collect as much of it as I could because I didn’t expect this project to last longer than projects started at that age usually do. But I was quite obviously wrong about this. And, having come to understand “Suwa” much better in the meantime, I am not surprised anymore. A “fast-growing” and basically complete world like this is like an organism that becomes creative out of itself. It is this aspect of a text almost as a living, breathing being that has always fascinated me. Thinking about “The Hobbit” I became involved with the aspect of how this world might have “come together” and developed into the world of the “Lord of the Rings” at the end of the Third Age. Concerning “Suwa” I could watch new characters come into being because Noah created and shaped them as we were writing. And parts of the story took more shape as well, I think, probably even partly because of my reactions to them. And he told me something invaluable to prove a theory about oral and written literature that I automatically acquired dealing with the Sagas of the Icelanders. I still think that there is much more literal truth in them than we are used to think because we can’t really imagine anymore how well oral tradition works. And what we lose at the same time we “switch” to written tradition. Noah told me that he starts to forget his stories as soon as they are written down. He only remembers those that haven’t yet been written. And he is just about to learn to write himself – until then this extensive universe existed exclusively in his head, apart from the countless drawings he made. But those are mostly just about what these planets and creatures look like.

This has brought me again to an important aspect about writing this blog, which is the “life” of a text. The way how certain texts work – and somehow it is much better proof for me if I can get evidence of it from other people. Because I know that, even looking as hard for the truth in what I am doing as I can, I always have more than one blind spot from where I am standing. So, I almost overlooked the first success I had with my blog – meaning that it had an impact on somebody else. I only discovered this when I recently talked to my friend Claudia about “Hannibal”, after she had read what I had written about the series, and she said that she might want to watch it as well even though her reservations were stronger than mine in the beginning. And I remembered just now that all the fictional worlds that had become my absolute favourites after “Middle-earth”, namely “Shakespeare”, “House of Cards” and “Hannibal”, I had taken up on (indirect) recommendation by the same person. And the “Making of England” series I discovered because my sister had started to read the books and said that they were great.

So, this is how this works, and of course a social aspect of my blog, in an ideal environment, would be that somebody might become interested in the texts I loved because of my reading them and getting involved with them as a human being. And only when we were talking about “Hannibal” became I really aware that I had had this kind of success already, only it wasn’t really a “success” – as when I took up “Shakespeare” again or started on the “Making of England” novels and enjoyed them. Because I hate to talk people into something they don’t want to do – as I don’t like that happening to me – I hadn’t asked Claudia if she had read my interminable review of the “Hobbit” films. But she probably had because she borrowed my extended versions of the films. After having seen only the first film in the cinema, I think, which she didn’t like much. She didn’t like the films any better after having read me review, which I shouldn’t have expected – and probably wouldn’t have if I had been thinking about it. But she could tell me exactly why she didn’t like them. Which was because she didn’t like the dwarves. And she even could tell me exactly why she didn’t like the dwarves. And when I really thought about this I discovered that this is great. Because this kind of information is infinitely more valuable to me and says infinitely more about a text than people telling me that they liked it but don’t give me any hint about WHAT they actually read, and if the story had an impact on them. And this is the kind of experience I usually make.

In this case I remembered that the reason why I had written my own story about the dwarves had probably been my puzzlement about my own reaction to the text and the films. Because I felt from the beginning – even reading the “Lord of the Rings” - that “everybody” disliked the dwarves. Not least because Tolkien himself did, and it shows, especially in “The Hobbit”! He became of course very much involved with them, and fascinated by them by and by, as he did with all his creatures (with the exception of the orcs, I suppose). So then – why did I fall in love with them at first sight? I think I probably wrote this whole thing because it bothered me, and I wanted to find out what was “wrong” with me. I even developed this as a major theme in my story: the angle that the dwarves, of course, don’t understand why everybody hates them, though they know it. And this crystal-clear and uncompromising rejection told me that I had been right about what I had already suspected: that very few people really understood the films because the main events aren’t even told from Bilbo’s perspective but from the perspective of the dwarves, much more so than in the book. And if you don’t understand or reject their predicament, and if you cannot see them as heroes of a kind, this whole story is wasted on you. Then the film disintegrates into “bits” which the audience might reject or relish at their pleasure. But they will never enjoy the films successfully “as one film”, as I did. So, in the long run, the “Hobbit” films might not turn out to be a great success with the majority of the audience, as “The Lord of the Rings” films were. And, realizing that, I think it even more of an achievement that they stuck to telling the story exactly the way it had to be told.

But now to the purpose:

Suwa, episode 2: Opres und die Limaris

Die Kopfgeldjäger wurden im Vulkan, wo es so aussieht wie im Gebirge, trainiert. Danach greifen sie den Planeten Galnzes an, wo Opres und Sama wohnen.

Sama spürt mit seinem Bauchgefühl, dass die Kopfgeldjäger kommen. Er ist so stark, dass er spüren kann, dass der erste Kopfgeldjäger Pors Walon sein wird. Genau da sieht Sama ein paar Messer. Opres wehrt sie mit seinem neuen Energieschwert ab. Dieses hat Sama ihm geschenkt. Sama denkt, dass es Kopfgeldjäger sind. Er denkt, dass Pors Walon eine bestimmte Schwäche hat. Darum versucht er, Opres davon abzuhalten, die Messer abzuwehren. Er fängt sie auf und wirft sie zurück. Da bemerkt er, dass es nicht Pors Walon ist, sondern Opres‘ Bruder.

Gerade in dem Moment, wo Sama gegen Teprif kämpft, schafft es Opres Teprif zurückzuschleudern. Opres versucht den entscheidenden Schlag, doch da bemerkt er, dass Pors Walon angekommen ist und gerade dabei ist, Sama zu töten. Opres hört auf gegen Teprif zu kämpfen und schleudert ihn noch weiter zurück. Er kämpft stattdessen gegen Pors Walon.

Auf einmal kommen noch mehr Kopfgeldjäger unter Führung von Pors Walon. Walon wird von Opres erstochen. Doch er bewegt seine Knochen, und Opres sticht nur durch die Luft.  Die Kopfgeldjäger schaffen es, Opres eine Narbe zu machen, die vom Auge bis zum Kinn geht. Einer der Kopfgeldjäger ist auf einmal wie vom Boden verschluckt in die Tiefe gestürzt. Die anderen Kopfgeldjäger, außer Pors Walon, der ein Seil schießt und sich daran festhält, stürzen auch in die Tiefe. Da bemerken Opres und Sama, dass der Boden in dem Thronsaal aus einem ähnlichen Material wie Gummi besteht. Sama und Opres holen ihre besten Krieger und springen in die komische Gummimasse. Auf einmal sind sie in einem Raum, wo es komplett dunkel ist.

Sama hat Erfahrung. Er weiß, was in diesem Raum passiert und wie man dort wieder rauskommt. Es ist aber sehr schwierig, weil dort gigantische Riesenspinnen lauern. Da kommt auf einmal ein ekliges achtbeiniges Monster. Opres sagt:

„Was sind das denn für Viecher?“

„Das sind diese Riesenviecher. Todes-Riesenspinnen.“

„In welchem Raum sind wir hier überhaupt?“

„Im Keller des Königreichs.“

„Warum haben wir denn überhaupt solche Riesenviecher in diesem Keller?“

„Für den Notfall.“

„Das mit dem Notfall ist aber ganz schön in die Hose gegangen.“

„Da hast du Recht,“ sagt Sama.

Auf einmal sehen sie, wie der hinterlistige und intelligente Pors Walon auf eins der Viecher hinaufspringt. Er holt eine kleine Dose, die in seinem Gürtel steckt, und macht sie mit seinen scharfen Krallen auf. Heraus strömt eine unbeschreiblich kalte Wolke, die hauptsächlich nur aus Dreck, Luft und Eis besteht. Die riesige Spinne atmet es ein und bricht dann zusammen. Augenblicklich sehen die anderen Kopfgeldjäger, Sama und Opres, dass die Augen der Spinne zugehen. 

Opres und Sama fragen sich auf einmal, wo Teprif steckt. Da sehen sie, dass der raffinierte Junge dort auch runterspringt. Opres legt sich mit Teprif an, und Sama kämpft gegen die Spinnen. Sama schafft es, mit seinem mächtigen Energieschwert ausgerechnet nur eine Spinne zu töten. Opres scheint es besser zu gehen. Denkt Sama. Doch Opres verliert fast seine Hand durch einen Schlag des Energieschwerts von Teprif. Stattdessen weicht Opres aus und versucht Teprif das Energieschwert in zwei Teile zu schneiden. Teprif stellt sich hinter eine Spinne, die gerade gekommen ist, um Opres zu töten. Opres schafft es, diese zu töten, indem er ihr in alle vier Augen sticht und sie dann ein Mal in ihre Schwachstelle sticht, das Unterteil der Spinne. Nun steht der fünfundzwanzigjährige Bruder ohne Deckung und ohne Schwert da, weil er es im Kampf gegen Opres verloren hat.

Auf einmal merken Opres und Sama, dass die Spinnen sich mit Teprif angefreundet haben. Da kommen die Kopfgeldjäger und die Spinnen, um den Kampf zu vollenden. Pors Walon nimmt mit einem flinken Griff seine Colmox-Pistole heraus und schießt mit zwei Schüssen auf Sama. Doch auf einmal bleibt der Schuss in der Luft stehen. Da sieht Pors Walon seine schlimmsten Gegner in der Dunkelheit. Es sind Pedartheo und Lenes. Pors Walon nimmt seine andere Pistole und lässt die andere fallen. Er streckt seine fünf Finger aus und lässt den Schuss zu Sama gleiten, aber in der Zeit ist Sama schon zu dem Kopfgeldjäger Voles gesprungen, um ihm den Kopf abzusäbeln. Dieser ist nicht sehr schlau aber dafür der Stärkste von den Kopfgeldjägern. Er nimmt seine Schwerter und kämpft gegen Sama. Opres sieht, dass Teprif seine Waffe geholt hat, um Opres aus dem Hinterhalt zu töten. Doch er springt hinter ihn, und es entsteht ein langer Kampf zwischen Teprif und Opres.

In der Zeit kämpft Pors Walon gegen Pedartheo und Lenes und schafft es, Lenes die Maske zu schrotten. Pedartheo kann in der Zeit Stacheln aus seiner Hand schießen. Pors Walon wehrt sie ab, und genauso wie bei Teprif und Opres entsteht ein langer, langer Kampf. Dadurch bemerken sie gar nicht, dass der Blutprinz und Ulsoro eingetroffen sind.

Als sie den Blutprinz und Ulsoro entdecken, hören sie auf einmal ein Geräusch aus der Decke. Es ist das Raumschiff von Arinn, einem großen Krieger von Sama. Opres kennt dieses Raumschiff schon. Er freut sich, weil sie aus dieser engen Lage wieder rauskommen. Die anderen kämpfen dort unten weiter. Opres fragt sich, was mit ihnen passiert.

In der Zeit kämpft der noch nicht ausgebildete Yonlaso im Palast gegen Ärün, den erfahrenen Zauberer, der nur zweiundzwanzig Zentimeter groß ist. Der noch nicht ausgebildete Schüler von Ärün ist auf die böse Seite gekommen, weil Ulsoro die Zukunft, die ihm noch bevorsteht, verändert hat. Dadurch sieht Yonlaso in der Zukunft, dass Ärün seinen Bruder töten wird.

Yonlaso nimmt sein Energieschwert, um den Winzling zu töten. Doch der löst sich auf einmal auf und ist hinter Yonlaso. Er schwingt seinen Zauberstab, und es wachsen riesige Pflanzen aus dem Boden. Yonlaso ist in den Pflanzen gefangen.

Ärün sieht das Raumschiff von Arinn. Ärün weiß, dass Sama und Opres vorhaben, das Indianervolk Limaris zu finden. Sama spürt nämlich, dass der Indianerstamm Limaris in Gefahr ist. Opres und Sama fliegen mit dem Raumschiff sehr lange und hören viele Anrufe der Limaris und dass die Limaris in einer Klemme zwischen Ulsoro und dem Blutprinz stecken.

Auf einmal sehen Sama und Opres den Planeten Esfon vor sich. Der Planet, auf dem die Limaris wohnen. Sie machen einen Sturzflug auf den Planeten Esfon. Sie landen. Sie gehen ein Stück auf dem Planeten und sie gucken hinter einem Strauch hervor. Hinter dem Strauch erstreckt sich ein riesiger Abgrund. Opres wäre fast in die Tiefe gefallen.

Opres bemerkt, dass auf dem Boden des Abgrunds die Zelte der Limaris stehen. Er sagt:

„Sama! Da stehen die Zelte der Limaris.“

Sama antwortet: „Wusstest du schon, dass das der Geburtsort von deiner Mutter ist?“

Opres antwortet: „Nein, ich wusste nicht, dass meine Mutter eine alte Indianerin ist.“

Sama antwortet: „Ja, dann ist es ja sehr schön, das mal zu erfahren.“

Opres fragt: „Warum hast du mir das nicht davor gesagt?“

Sama antwortet: „Das erzähle ich dir später.“

Sama nimmt Anlauf und springt auf eine abstehende Klippe, die aus dem Felsen ragt. Dann springt er auf eine andere abstehende Klippe. Er macht es immer so weiter. Opres springt ihm hinterher, so lange bis sie unten angekommen sind.

Da sehen sie schon, wie der Anführer der Limaris gegen Ulsoro kämpft. Sama und Opres schließen sich den Limaris zum Kampf gegen den Blutprinz und Ulsoro an. Vier der Limaris werden von Ulsoro und dem Blutprinz getötet. Es sind aber noch 284 Krieger der Limaris da. Es entsteht ein langer, langer, unbeschreiblich langer Kampf.

Irgendwann schaffen es die Limaris, Opres und Sama, Ulsoro und den Blutprinz zu vertreiben. Opres und Sama laden alle ihre Freunde zu einem Fest bei den Limaris ein.

 

(Episode 2: Opres and the Limaris

The bounty hunters have practised inside the volcano where the environment is similar to that of the mountains. Afterwards they attack the planet Galnzes where Opres and Sama live.

Sama is feeling in his guts that the bounty hunters are approaching. He is so strong that he can feel that the first bounty hunter will be Pors Walon. At that moment Sama beholds a few knifes. Opres fends them off with his new energy sword which Sama gave to him. Sama thinks that the attackers are bounty hunters. He thinks that Pors Walon has a certain weakness. Because of this he tries to prevent Opres from fending off the knifes. He catches them and throws them back. Then he realizes that it isn’t Pors Walon but Opres’ brother.

While Sama is fighting Teprif, Opres is able to fend Teprif off. Opres is trying to perform a final stroke, but then he realizes that Pors Walon has arrived and is about to kill Sama. Opres is able to come clear from Teprif. He is now fighting Pors Walon instead.

Suddenly even more bounty hunters arrive, led by Pors Walon. Walon is pierced by Opres, but he moves his bones, and Opres only hits the air. The bounty hunters manage to give Opres a scar from his eye down to the chin. One of the bounty hunters suddenly vanishes as if swallowed by the earth. The other bounty hunters, apart from Pors Walon who shoots a rope and saves himself, vanish into the abyss as well. Opres and Sama realize that the floor in the throne room is made of a material similar to rubber. Sama and Opres get their best fighters and jump into the strange rubber-like mass. Suddenly they find themselves in a room that is completely dark.

Sama is experienced. He knows what happens in that room, and how it is possible to escape. But it is very difficult because of the giant spiders lurking there. Suddenly a disgusting monster on eight legs appears. Opres says:

“What are these creatures?”

„They are these giant creatures. Giant death-spiders.”

„And where are we exactly?“

 „In the basement.“

„Why do we have these giant creatures in the basement?“

„For emergencies.“

„This emergency turned out shit.”

„You are certainly right about that,“ says Sama.

Suddenly they see the deceitful and intelligent Pors Walon mounting one of the creatures. He retrieves a small can from his belt and opens it with his sharp talons. From this an indescribably cold cloud is leaking which consists mainly of dirt, air, and ice. The giant spider breathes it in and collapses. Instantly the other bounty hunters, Sama, and Opres behold the spider closing its eyes.

Opres and Sama are wondering where Teprif has gone. Then they behold the artful youth jumping down as well. Opres attacks Teprif, and Sama is fighting the spiders. Sama achieves to kill just one spider with his mighty energy sword. Opres appears to have better success, Sama thinks. But Opres almost loses his hand through a blow from Teprif’s energy sword. Opres dodges him and tries to cut his energy sword in two. Teprif takes cover behind a spider which is just trying to kill Opres. Opres achieves to kill it piercing its four eyes with his sword and then stabbing it once in the belly, which is its weakest part. Now his twenty-five-year-old brother is standing before him without cover and weaponless because he lost his sword fighting Opres.

Suddenly Opres and Sama realize that the spiders have made friends with Teprif. The bounty hunters and the spiders are approaching to finish the fight. Pors Walon quickly draws his colmox pistol and shoots twice at Sama. But his shot gets immobilized in the air. Pors Walon beholds his worst enemies in the darkness: Pedartheo and Lenes. Pors Walon drops his pistol and draws the second one. He extends his five fingers and makes the shot glide towards Sama, but meanwhile Sama has jumped at the bounty hunter Voles to take his head off. This one isn’t very bright but the strongest of all the bounty hunters. He reaches for his sword and attacks Sama. Opres sees that Teprif has recovered his weapon to kill Opres from behind. But he jumps behind Teprif’s back, and a long fight ensues between them.

Meanwhile Pors Walon is fighting Pedartheo and Lenes and achieves to total Lenes’ mask. But Pedartheo is able to shoot spikes from his hand. Pors Walon fends them off, and, as between Teprif and Opres, a long, long fight ensues. Because of this they don’t realize that the Blood Prince and Ulsoro have arrived.

As they have become aware of the Blood Prince and Ulsoro they hear a noise from the ceiling. It is the space ship of Arinn who is one of Sama’s major fighters. Opres knows the space ship already. He is happy to escape from this tight spot. The others continue to fight in the basement. Opres is wondering about their fate.

At the same time Yonlaso, who is not yet completely trained, is fighting in the palace against Ärün, the accomplished sorcerer who is only about 8.5 inches tall. The pupil of Ärün joined the bad side because Ulsoro manipulated his future. Yonlaso has been looking into his future and has found there that Ärün will kill his brother.

Yonlaso draws his energy sword to kill the midget. But the latter dissolves himself and suddenly reappears behind Yonlaso. He uses his magic wand, and giant plants are growing from the soil. Yonlaso gets caught in the maze of plants.

Ärün beholds Arinn’s space ship. Ärün knows that Sama and Opres are planning to find the Indian tribe of the Limaris. Sama feels that the tribe Limaris is in danger. Opres and Sama travel in their space ship for a long time and are getting a lot of calls from the Limaris. They understand that the Limaris are in a tight spot between the Blood Prince and Ulsoro.

Suddenly Sama and Opres behold the planet Esfon, the planet where the Limares live. They attempt a nosedive onto the planet. They touch down. They are walking some distance on the planet and are gazing from behind a bush. Behind this bush they behold a gigantic abyss. Opres would almost have tumbled down.

Opres beholds the tents of the Limaris at the bottom of the abyss. He says:

„Sama! These are the tents of the Limaris.“

Sama answers: „Did you know that your mother was born here?“

Opres answers: „No, I didn’t know that my mother is an old indian.”

Sama answers: “Then it is good for you to learn this.”

Opres asks: „Why didn’t you tell me before?“

Sama answers: “I’ll tell you later.”

He jumps onto a protruding rock, then onto another one. He continues like this. Opres follows him until they have reached the bottom.

There they can see the chief of the Limaris fighting Ulsoro. Sama and Opres join the fight of the Limaris against the Blood Prince and Ulsoro. Four of the Limaris are killed by Ulsoro and the Blood Prince. But there are still 284 warriors of the Limaris left. A long, indescribably long fight ensues.

Eventually the Limaris, Opres and Sama achieve to drive off Ulsoro and the Blood Prince. Opres and Sama invite all their friends for a feast with the Limaris.)