The war was over in a little while, and Zik's father thought he was old enough to begin hunting with the adults. It ended up that he absolutely loved the excitement of a hunt, which was well, considering the Sevathos live off of the meat they kill. For a few months, he lived happily, now with his gained and forever improving knowledge of how to make weapons, and he would practice shooting arrows and even throwing knives, as well as making his own. This worried his mother badly, of course, considering she'd never had a son who was so obsessed with such a violent hobby, but she encouraged it, nonetheless, since it was what he loved, and she could see it. Besides, it got rid of the spare energy he had most of the time, anyhow.

It may seem odd that someone who so loved to kill still loved being happy, and that side of life, but apparently it is possible. The hunts and war did not turn him to a cold-hearted, evil sort of being, and it did not make him go insane and decide he was going to make exploding monkeys in his basement. First of all, he didn't have a basement. Back onto the subject, though… When he was about a year and a half old, he began helping the obsessive-compulsive, paranoid weapons specialist in the mutual town. After a while, he seemed almost to be an apprentice to the old creature, and he began to tell the young male some secrets. At first, Zikal had thought he had finally lost his marbles, and then he saw it for himself. Guns that shot plasma, weapons that spun, weapons that had telescopes on them, weapons that could assassinate the quickest of creatures. And he took them all apart a hundred times, putting them back together again, and seeing about every single detail and bolt and joint. He didn't like to shoot the guns very much, because they hurt his ears, but he loved making them, and would shoot them just enough to make sure they were sighted in correctly.

When he was almost two years old, Dohlin Vascin (the old weaponry man) died. He was found in the corner of his room, holding a gun, with his mouth hanging open. Apparently he was trying to protect himself from something, from the looks of it, but Zikaln and everyone else did not doubt that it was actually a heart attack that killed him, or something natural of the sort. Still, Zik was saddened by this, perhaps more than most others were. He'd respected the man, and had found that he had a lot to offer. Now, though, he had to take the care of weapons under his own wing. Never did the thought cross his mind that he could not do it. Indeed, to have one person do such a thing, and for so many different packs, it would most likely take up very much of his time. And indeed it did, but he hardly minded. He had enough energy to go around, and took as much care and time into each weapon as he had before, if not more. Every time he made something, it was improved a little more, and soon he was, respectively, one of the best arms specialists in the area.

When he turned two years old his parents were about five, and he still lived with them. (Sevathos often spend lifetimes with their families.) Although he spent more and more of his days at the barn where he made his weapons, often spending nights there, whether he was working or not. He felt comfortable there, and he knew his family understood this comfort, this love for making things, though they still wanted to be with him and to have him home. He had simply assumed that he would live with them all of his life, unless he went somewhere else to start a family of his own. Things do not always go as planned, though, and he did not find anyone. In fact, he found that he became more and more spontaneous in making things, staying at the barn, and although he tried to do as much for his family as possible, it seemed that he hardly fit in anymore, except as a hunter. And indeed, they valued that he was a good hunter, but his love for making weapons had no use in a world of stubborn creatures that did not want to learn new things. The Sevathos, after all, were not the only beings in the world.

After a while, it was clear that he needed to do something else, despite his love for his family. His life needed to go somewhere, and he wanted to take his weapons further with him, if he could. So it was decided that he would leave, and go to some other part of the world. For weeks he traveled, until he found that he was not among people of even the same species as he was used to. The food they made was not the same, and the warmth of teamwork he had once felt was not at all there. And there was no war, and hardly any hunting. They bred animals to be killed, and sold the meat. He had to work, therefore, to buy this meat, and so he did, and although he worked with weapons as well, for many long hours, he got paid to clean at the docking stations. Mop here, sweep there, clean this or that, and try not to make any trouble. But somehow, even with this lowly job, he seemed almost to feel that he was getting somewhere, merely by being on his own. How he would progress would come to him soon enough, he figured.

Interestingly enough, he was right. One day he was mopping, late at night, and a ship called the Argo pulled up. A crew got off, and he watched them under a flickering eye as he did his job. Sadly he looked upon them, as they reminded him of a family, and seemed to be happy working together. He wished that he was with them. Then it hit him. Those were the evil, all-stealing pirates he had heard about, weren't they? They looked... pirate-ish to him, and indeed there were quite a few of them. Then again, who cared. He was probably wrong about that anyhow. But oh, what an exciting thought. Working together for their own purpose, having one common goal, and working together to achieve it. He smiled and got back to work, but couldn't get it off of his mind.

Imagine that, having a family again. As a Sevathos, the creature had a yearning in his heart to be close to someone. Even if they did steal. Even if he didn't know them. Oh hell, he was crazy, wasn't he? They would never want him to be with them. "Why not?" he thought to himself. He didn't have an answer. He could be dedicated, and honest and he would have worked hard. Because they were a family... look at them... and because his heart needed them. But what if they were insane? Who cared. Look at him, mopping a deck. Did he really want to live like this forever? These people on this world were all loners. None of them knew how to be a family, how to love. After all, they spawned and fertilized eggs like frogs, mostly. He couldn't stay here. He would rather die an insane idiot than stay here.

Stop thinking Zikaln... things like that don't happen to you and you know it. You won't be a pirate.

Only a half an hour passed before he was off though, and he signed out and began to walk towards the place where he lived, sadly daydreaming as he walked. In one huge home, which he passed every day, all the lights were on, and there seemed to be a lot of yelling. That man had a lot of money, and Zik had become certain, in his time living around here, that the man meant no good. The pirates would be smart to rob that idiot. NO no... there were no pirates. He told himself, "I'm going to just go home. Go home."

But oh, he hated that man. That man thought he owned so many acres of woods... so much land... back home, the Sevathos would have killed him. Sure, perhaps they were, at times, a murderous race, but they did it only for the best reasons. As far as he was concerned, they hadn't ever done anything wrong. And he would have been right, wouldn't he, to protect the woodlands that were so much like the ones back home. Oh, the races and creatures and evil beings had been killing the woods for so long on this world, for their own houses. Zik lived with it, and they lived all over it, and he didn't understand why.

He knelt down and picked up a few sticks, then, as he walked towards the large place, got out a very small knife which he always had with him. He shaved this here and that there, until one stick came to a point, then curved as does the head of an arrow, so that wherever it was put, it would stay. Then he cut a crude hole which didn't exactly fit, but would be good enough, for the other, smaller stick to slip through, for a better grip. He came inside the house hardly intending to kill the old man, but then, it would have hurt him, somehow, to see the pirates caught and hung or the like. Not that he knew them, but somehow he would have felt it in his heart.

He hopped all throughout the house, bouncing sideways to look through that door, and leaping upon things to see over an item. It was in the basement that the sounds were coming from. Someone was banging on another door, obviously trying to get out, and there were others running, yelling, and hitting each other. Metal contacting metal. Metal contacting wood. His ears picked up a lot of it.

Zik grabbed the door handle. Locked. He took out the little knife again, stuck it into the lock, and turned. Snap. The knife could only take so much. Now he was frusterated. Zik stuck what was left of it in again, expecting it to do nothing at all. To his utter and complete surprise, the door opened. A guard of some (huge frightening) sort leapt at him, and he stuck the stick-weapon through its chest. The pirates saw that the door had been opened, and ran to their release, as did he.

Eventually, after actually talking with the crewmembers and directing them to an efficient hiding spot inside a shed in the brush, he was taken to Queen Chota. To make a long story short, he did his best to treat her with utter respect, and she seemed to think, after some questioning, that he would appropriately fit in on the ship. He did not get his current position, Master at Arms of the Argo ship, until he had proven himself a good crew member and then a good maker of weapons.

Current Situation
Nowadays, Zikal is another happy family member of the Argo ship. He spends his days making replacements for lost weapons, and of course, always improving his design (they have plenty of extra weapons as well, by now, but he continues to make more just for the hell of it) and always practicing. The room where he grinds swords and knives, and makes arrows, arrowheads, and bows, as well as any other specially requested weapon, such as a whip, also has stored in it a target. The wall is good enough for knife throwing (as is obvious when you go inside and look at the poor, disgruntled wood), but an arrow would either go through it or get stuck. So he sets up the target on the deck of the boat, for practice.

He sleeps very little, as Sevathos rarely do, during one interval. Rather, if you leave him alone for too long, no matter what time of day it is, or where he is at, he is bound to fall into a light sleep for a few minutes, which makes up for the only 4 or 5 hours he gets at night. This does come in handy, though, because Zik wants to miss nothing, and rarely does. At night, when he is awake, is often his 'alone time', when he wanders the deck and breaths some air, pretending to guard the ship. He does his best to be quiet and not bother anyone else, of course, until the day starts. He can also be an alarm clock, as he has a good sense of time (as canines often do) and will know about what time it is almost always.

He misses his family, though he hardly misses his home at all. Trees and grass are not the most unique of things to have on a planet, and he hardly ever was attached to it (though most Sevathos do get attached, if they live there for a very long time). However, he does not agonize over not seeing them, and wishes them well, but accepts that his new place is with those of the Argo.