TESTIMONIUM

Let this be my testimony to you, that He protected me in my defenselessness - gave me strength in my weakness - gave me grace in my spitefulness - gave me words in my speechlessness - gave me salvation in my sinfulness - gave me rest in my restlessness - gave me knowledge in my stupidity - gave me everything in my nothingness and healed me in my brokenness. He and He alone sustains me. I am solely His. And when the time comes that He deems it bad for me to be alone, He shall provide that which I lack and that for which I was created to please, comfort, know, cherish, and love.

To that God I shall trust my future.

I thank you for her beauty, Lord, though I have not seen her at that time. That beauty which is yours alone to bestow, for to You all beauty must be described, for you alone are beautiful. All color. All light. All things wonderful. I thank you for that reflection of yourself in her.

I thank you for her calming spirit, Lord, though I have yet to taste its sweetest delight. That spirit that which can only come from You, Christ my King, in exact and wholesome beauty,which empowers and emboldens your Kingdom, myself included, for to You all softness and loveliness, gentleness and mercy owe their existence.

I thank You for her strength and justice, Father, which You lent her in her hour of need. Which reprimands and draws me closer to you, even though I stray from your face.

I thank you for forming her to my eyes' delight that I might behold Your reflection deep in her eyes, which compel me to worship your perfection.

I thank you, Lord, for her, not that I receive all these benefits from her, but that you would allow such wondrous and perfectly fallen beauty in this realm, at that time, in that place. I thank you that you have created a being such that I might serve you by serving her, revived to my service by the overwhelming, simplistic virtues that you so perfectly inscribed on her. Whenever I meet her, whether in past or in future, Father I have full confidence that you will reveal her to me as the one for which I was created to serve, to provide for as you provide for me, to love as you love me, and to walk with until the end of my days.

I trust myself to you, Lord, written this public place not that others would see me in new light, but that they might hold me to this charge which you have put on my heart.

- Sci

He left her where he met her last, there among the crowd. Her gaze reflected off him as he peered at her. He could not sense her presence as he approached. She was unintentionally stealthed from his sensors. As he embraced her that first time, ten feet from where he left her last, he did not feel her affection. She didn't melt at his touch much as he didn't melt at her gaze as he used to, even though he wanted to. Was it her, was it him, or was it simply the time and place?

Space. It's a novel concept. A realm of nothingness that is inevitably filled with wondrous adventures. One of these enumerable adventures is you, one is me, and one is the adventure of Sci, the Last Sparatan. Here is a glimpse:

A Sparatan SP-51 Sparfighter screeching through the idyllic desert skies. The JR-2300 plasmafan engine glows in front, while its various guns spew fire at the enemy.

[Sci's Datapad: Entry: SP-51 Sparfighter:

The SP-51 was primarily known for its use in the Solarian Great War which unified what is now known as the Desertae cluster, the solar system to which Sparata belongs. In this conflict, the SP-51 was the primary atmospheric fighter and escort craft for the larger Sparatan bombers, like the SR-17. The SP-51 had a surprisingly long lifepsan, however after the Solarian War, it was mostly used in reserve squadrons.

The SP-51 was one of the only plasmafan powered Sparatan crafts, as it was invented during the transition from physical turbofans to ionjet propulsion systems. The SP-51, while it was was spaceworthy, was mainly used in atmospheric combat due to it's distinct placing on the evolutionary track.

Though later SP-51 models, namely the SP-51p and SP-51s, were used in the super-orbital war of Kraeia, most pilots were trained and issued SP-86, SP-104, and SP-105 starfighters for the majority of the conflict.

Additionally, the Sparfighter had a distinctive sound due to it's rather dirty propulsi... [data corrupt]...]

Sketch - The Map of Second Age Mîrith

Far to the north and east of Spïra, on the very edge of the Acarian sea, lay the town of Rúmënor. Rúmënor was set in a bay, with razor sharp mountains ominously flanking three of it's sides with the sea as one of the only means of travel beyond the great knol of Arinor, which functioned as the only landside route into the town. Creating a third of a circle around the inside of the steep mountains, Rúmënor lay, one of the farthest northward villages in all of the kingdom of Ëorfel. rugged mountains and thick, nearly impassible forests expanded south from Rúmënor with but one fortress to see over many leagues of land. The fortress was that of Ënor, hidden off the small, winding Rúmënore road, just before the slope of hte mountains became too steep for building, and thus fairly close to the great gate of Arinor. The Ënore, great warriors of the halls of Ënor, protected the land from marauding bandits and vile creatures that permeated the forests, which came to be known as Meril'när. They are hardened warriors, trained to fight and win against unsurmountable odds. In this respect they outmatch even the expert soldiers of the Spïran army. The bay of Rúmënor was twisted at a slight angle, with the openning facing northwest. There many small towns sprinkled south, along the Rúmënore road, trickling off into greater Ëorfel, with the southernmost part of the road turning east, ending just before the great pass of Môrithain near the citadel of Fürleor. From Fürleor, the Ëorith road runs southwest, turning due south once again, running directly into Ëorfel itself from the north. Ëorfeln are hardy folk, having conquered life in the cold, far north reaches of Mîrith. In general, they have a love and respect for adventures and journeys like most other men have for gold or women. In fact, Ëorfeln rarely accept a man virility until he has completed a great quest or journey. Thus, in other parts of Mîrith, the fortress of Ënor is refered to as the "Heroes' Guild," with many great warriors from Spïra to Ûngil coming to train learn from the Ënore. It has been put forth that the Ëorfeln were indeed some of the earliest men, for they are stouter and stronger than other races. Their history is rich in adventure and great tales, of great heroes and terrible villains. Living on the edge of civilization, however, the Ëorfeln are often overlooked in political affairs and could even be considered isolated from the world of men, much as the bay of Rúmënor is from the rest of the land.

The crimson banner of Spïra wavered and fell. This would be the doom of the Republic, fallen to the imperial hordes of Tithäs. Separated from his army and his home, Spîros leapt with the strength only desperation could instill, through the thickening crowd of enemies. His heart raced, his mind ran as fast as his feet. With every step he made another impossible move, dodging, catching, overcoming every blow in his path. He never stumbled, never failed. He ducked, stabbing a captain in the gut before spinning around to block the next attack. He was the epitome tenacity, force and vigor. His unpredictable finesse and power flowed as if a river through the hordes of men that opposed him. Blood flowed free and dust rose up around the battle. Spîros jumped up, kicking an enemy in the chest to knock him down before impaling him with his own sword. Almost as if in a dream, Spîros fluidly ended all his foes. Spîros spun around, expecting to meet the enemy general face to face. But in his wake he saw only destruction - mauled bodies, open wounds, dark blood. He stood in his battle-poise for what seemed like an eternity. He could no longer hear his breath. The desolation of the scene took him. A chill ran down his spine. As he looked down, he saw the point of a spear protruding through his chest. His knees hit the ground as he looked closer at the blade.

Imprinted nobly on the tip was the Solaris Sparatæ. Vanquished by one of his own kind, he fell backwards, waiting for the end.

In the realm of Spïra, in the town of Ripätum, lived a small boy and his family. In the long grasslands near the sea, the boy would play and fantasize about his future under the overcast skies. Sometimes the boy saw himself becoming a valiant Rïtter, bringing justice to the many evils that infested the land. Others, the boy was a dark mage, summoning horrible creatures from their immortal graves to bring ruin to all. But what the boy could not see was his future and how powerful he would become. His name was Spiros, and a mighty warrior he was destined to be.