Ottsel Wars II, Ch. 5
Daxter caught up with Dar about halfway to the Precursor Academy, hardly fatigued from sprinting across the outskirts of Precursor City. He was too preoccupied with what King Gorm had explained to him after lunch to feel any physical strain in his thighs. He hated that the King would send two under qualified warriors to take on a mission that could potentially result in their demise.
But he did say he tried to talk the council out of it. I can't really be mad at him for that.
Daxter joined Dar as they strolled along the sidewalk. Both of them had remained silent, save for the sound of Daxter's cape flapping in the gentle breeze.
But like he said, no one knew for sure if Thrad was the kidnapper in the first place. I could be freaking out for nothing.
"So . . . is it true?" Dar asked to break the silence.
"Hm?" Daxter broke his train of thought and turned to Dar.
"You really are Daxter, ar
Ottsel Wars II, Ch. 4
"The King's Call"
Daxter's mind surfaced back to consciousness as he awoke the next morning, the rays of the morning sun beaming down on his face. For the first time in a long time, he had a pleasant night's sleep. He realized then that he hadn't slept in a bed for as long as he could remember. For the past week, he had been sleeping below underbrush or on a branch of one of the trees of Meshla. Waking up in this bed was the most joyful sensation he had ever felt since the day he received his first pair of pants.
Daxter propped himself upright with both arms and opened his eyes to survey the room. The girls were gone, but he discovered a lone tray of fruit placed beside his bed. Daxter rubbed his eyes and stared at the tray once more to come across a note leaning up against the pitcher or milk. He crawled to the edge of the bed and grabbed for the note. Sitting himself on the e
Ottsel Wars II, Ch. 3
The crowd of Precursors swarmed themselves around Daxter and Burkin as they walked the hallways of the Grand Hall, asking all sorts of questions to Daxter in particular. He couldn't interpret what any of them were saying just because everyone was speaking loudly and at the same time. He and Burkin tried to signal them that they had not the time for interrogations, which worked to some extent. One by one, each Precursor began to walk out of the crowd, finally giving up on trying to communicate with their chosen one. As they descended the steps to the outside of the palace, one persistent paparazzo remained. Sighing, Burkin asked, "What do you want?"
"I was hoping . . . maybe I could have Daxter's autograph?" He held a pen and a notepad. Burkin began to raise a hand in an effort to deny his request until Daxter stepped in and said:
"Sure, why not?" He signed the giddy Precursor's notepad.
"Thank you so much, Daxter! I really appreciate it!" Then he w
Ottsel Wars II, Ch. 2
"Precursor City?" Daxter couldn't help but ask. Burkin didn't answer right away so that he could focus on entering Lumin's atmosphere safely.
"Even though most people refer to Lumin as the Precursor planet, only one city consists of actual Precursors." Daxter looked at Burkin with a blank stare.
"That doesn't make much sense," commented Daxter. "Why bother calling Lumin the Precursor planet if only one city has Precursors?"
"Outsiders are easily misled by the fact that the entire planet is inhabited by Ottsels. What they fail to consider is that just because they're Ottsels doesn't make them all Precursors." The podship shook violently as they broke through the atmosphere. As flames began to obscure the front window, Burkin pressed another button on the dashboard and the flames receded. Daxter guessed it was a coolant designed for just such a situation. "As I was saying," Burkin continued, "there are numerous cities on Lumin, but only Precursor City is mea
Ottsel Wars II, Ch. 1
Dungeon of Terror
Daxter followed the mustached Ottsel to the bottom floor of the ship where he was led to the entrance chamber. To his surprise, the exit was already open. As they approached the exit, he could see two leather seats stationed just outside. Daxter realized it was a miniature ship attached to the exit. The mysterious Ottsel went inside first, seating himself in the pilot seat. He motioned Daxter to join him, and so he did. The moment he sat in the cramped passenger seat, a round sheet of glass separated him from entrance to the larger vessel.
"My name's Burkin, by the way," spoke the mustached Ottsel. Daxter said nothing. For all he knew, this Ottsel could be another Anti-Precursor. He learned not to trust anyone after Leader, his trusted mentor, revealed to him that he was allied with the Anti-Precursors, traitors who pledged themselve