Corad: We've decided it's time to start editing this story, since some of these chapters are quite old and definitely need some work on them. It'll probably take a while to fix mistakes and improve the quality, but hopefully it'll be a better story once we've finished revising it. I want to thank everyone who has read this over the years, and also to those who took a moment to review. Your support kept this story going, so thankyou :)

Jak and Daxter (c) Naughty dog. We own nothing.

Title: Palace Stories
Rating: T
Warnings: Possible spoilers for the Jak series. Some characters are OOC (mainly Praxis, Jak and Damas).
Characters: Praxis is the protagonist, along with Erol, Ashelin and Veger. Other characters pop up now and again, regardless if they're deceased or not.

Summary: The never ending Rampages of Baron Praxis. This is the Haven City how we know and love.

Palace Stories – may have been exaggerated.

No, Not Pancakes!

The noisy bird outside Praxis' window woke him up earlier than he would have liked to have been. In a result, he ripped open his curtains, tore open the window, and threw one of the rifles he'd stolen from Erol at it. The rifle missed the blue bird sitting blissfully in the tree, and hit the ground five stories below. It made Praxis happy though, when the gun went off upon impact, and sent the bird flying in fear. "Heh heh, stupid bird," he laughed quietly, feeling victorious whilst watching a guard inspect the rifle below the window, wondering where on earth it had come from.

Praxis wandered back over to his massive Baron-sized bed, and got in again. He lay there for a few minutes, unable to resume his sleep, before weird visions of batter began floating around his head, followed by syrup. "What is happening to me!?" he yelled, grabbing his head in horror. These visions were like premonitions, and premonitions scared Praxis.

"Sir, can you keep it down? Others are trying to sleep!" Erol's voice yelled through the floor, as he tapped aggressively on the ceiling with a broom below Praxis. The Baron's eye twitched, and he got out of bed, his day officially ruined. Nobody told him what to do!

"Eat this!" he yelled back, jumping as hard as he could on the ground where Erol was standing one level below. The floorboards started cracking, and a chunk of plaster, carpet and wood fell on Erol. Praxis followed, but managed to win a soft landing at Erol's expense.

"Um, sir could you…GET OFF ME!" Erol shouted, pushing parts of the fallen-in ceiling off him. Praxis did the best he could in squashing Erol for the last few seconds he had, before dragging himself off the mess, grumbling about his fun being ruined. The batter and syrup resumed their drifting in his mind as he made a move towards Erol's bed, and the insecure feeling returned with it.

"Sir, no! Not my bed!" the commander screamed in panic, getting up with great effort and running towards Praxis before he could inflict any more damage. He caught up to him, and began dragging Praxis towards the bedroom door. "Ok, Baron Sir. It is 6.10 in the morning. I was asleep, Ashelin's asleep, and the guards are asleep," Erol clarified slowly, trying to explain the fact that having the highest person in command fall through your ceiling early in the morning was wrong.

"Nrgh, I do what I like," Praxis grunted, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't care and waving at Erol in a dismissive manner. This made a vein in the smaller man's temple throb out of impending rage. Forcing to keep himself calm, Erol continued in the hopes of ridding himself of Praxis.

"Also, I think Torn's still asleep," he added, struggling as he pushed Praxis out the door. Upon hearing those fateful words, Praxis turned to face him in apparent rage. Erol had done it now. Although some may argue Erol had done it when he used the broom in a threatening manner towards Praxis' fun earlier. Either way, he'd stepped the line.

"Torn?! What is Torn doing in here?" Spit was flying from the Baron's mouth, and Erol cowered into a corner as the large man approached him.

"Well, I think Ashelin invited him over," he murmured, shielding his face for another tidal wave of spit. It seemed Praxis wasn't taking this too well.

"I'll kill him! If he goes near my son!" Praxis yelled in fury, his voice echoing down the halls of the Palace, disrupting the rare peace.

"Err, don't you mean daughter?" Erol corrected him, hoping that he wasn't aggravating the Baron any more.

"Daughter? I have a daughter?" he asked, forgetting about his rage for a moment. Praxis seemed utterly confused at this point. It was as if his whole life had been a lie. Like his entire perception of reality had been cruelly distorted.

"Yes, Ashelin. You were just talking about her," Erol said, coming out of his corner slightly, believing the Baron had begun to calm down enough to be considered safe.

"Ashelin? Her?" By the sounds of things, Praxis' brain was melting, unable to comprehend this new and foreign information. His eyes went blank, drool ran down his chin, and he looked dazed out. Erol even believed he could smell something burning, quite possibly his leader's brain as it attempted to process the commander's statement. Beginning to worry about Praxis' wellbeing as well as his own, he inched up to Baron, wondering whether he was still alive and hadn't killed himself by thinking too hard.

"Praxis? Praxis? PRAXIS?!" Erol called, waving his arm desperately in front of Praxis' face. Two seconds later, Praxis jolted awake. He blinked a few times whilst figuring out where he was, before turning to Erol, all rage currently forgotten.

"So, where were we? Ah, yes. We decided that you'd make the pancakes?" Praxis said, smiling in a way that told Erol things could get potentially worse.

"Pancakes? What are you talking about?" Erol sighed in confusion, hoping his "Lord" would leave so he could get back to some serious sleeping.

"Weren't we discussing pancakes?"

"No..." the commander replied cautiously, looking nervously around the room.

After this small conversation, the Baron went into a stupor again, and remained in that state for a few minutes. Erol was wondering whether he should go back to sleep and leave Praxis as is, but before he could make up his mind, the Baron returned to reality again.

"I'll kill him!" he suddenly yelled in rage, before running from the room and heading towards Ashelin's bedroom down the hall. Erol stood in silence as he heard a long, ear-piercing scream drift through the palace. It sounded slightly like Ashelin, and the commander began to wonder what her father had done. The baron returned shortly afterwards, covered in a red mess, looking suspiciously like blood. He had a bored look on his face, unaware of Erol's alarmed expression facing in his direction.

"What did you do to him?!" Erol stuttered in horror, looking at the crimson mess on the Baron's hands and arms. Whatever Praxis had done to Torn, he was dreading finding out.

"What? I didn't do nothing! I haven't even seen him yet!" he yelled defensively, while the red liquid dripped onto Erol's nice clean, cream carpet. It would take days, if not years to remove that stain.

"Well, why are you covered in blood?!" Erol questioned, wincing every time a drop of crimson stained his carpet.

"Oh, I ran into the cook, who was holding a battery-powered blender," Praxis said casually, ignoring the liquid running down his arms. Erol stared in disbelief as the Baron picked at his ear, not caring about his potential life-threatening condition. It looked as though Praxis had forgotten about his blender accident.

"So, you make the pancakes, and I'll go make the coffee. But I won't really make the coffee, because that'll be your job," he explained in a tone that suggested he was talking to a child.

"Sir, shouldn't you get that checked out first?" Erol asked in concern, watching as Praxis picked at his ear again.

"What? No. I can just eat it later! Well, I'll be…err... Wait a minute. Torn!" The subject of Torn in Ashelin's room came back into his mind, and he ran out of Erol's bedroom, in the direction of Torn. Erol didn't have time to digest Praxis' "I'll eat it later" remark, because he heard a second scream, not so ear piercing and girly than the previous, but it was still a scream. Praxis returned shortly afterwards, and was covered in more crimson mess, this time down his front.

"Praxis, please don't tell me you killed Torn?" Erol groaned, his voice full of shock again. Praxis chuckled happily and replied.

"Oh no. I'd never kill him. I only told him that Ashelin was a man," he said, sounding like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Erol eyed him suspiciously, before motioning to his stained shirt.

"Well, why do you have blood on your front?' Erol asked, feeling that this conversation was pointless. "And you did what?!"

"Well, it's true. Ashelin is a man. And I ran into the cook again. This time he had pizza."

"Ashelin is not a man! And… WHAT?"

"Ashelin is too a man! And the cook walked into me!" This conversation seemed to go on for ages, but Erol soon gave up, and stalked back to bed. He was unable to cope with all this insanity first thing in the morning.

"Ashelin is too a man, and you know it!" Praxis continued, and Erol pulled the sheets over his head, hoping to block out Praxis' persistent voice.

"For the last time! She isn't! I think I'd know."

"What is that supposed to mean!?" Praxis yelled in offence, staring at Erol's figure under the sheets.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Erol sniggered, pulling his head out of the sheet to face Praxis.

"You! I trusted you!" he shouted, running as fast as his legs would carry him towards Erol's bed. He leapt on the bed, and body smashed onto it. Erol got squashed for the second time that morning, and the bed collapsed under all the weight. Praxis started punching what he believed was Erol into pulp.

"You…Lying….Stinking…..!" he growled, unaware of Erol scooting a few inches away from him as he began strangling the commander's spare pillow.

"Err...Sir?" he began, watching hopelessly as his pillow was destroyed bit by bit; the case had split and spilt feathers around the room. Praxis stopped his attack, and turned to the source of the voice, wondering what Erol wanted. Couldn't he see he was busy beating up Erol? "I'm over here."

"Wha...?...Oh right...." Praxis said sheepishly, flicking his hand in a downward motion. Scooting over to the commander, he grabbed the smaller man by the collar.

"You…" he snarled, resuming his previous anger while his single eye began twitching.

"I didn't do anything!" Erol hissed back, pushing Praxis' large hand off his nightshirt.


"Sir, I don't even like Ashelin. But she is a girl. She used to play with dolls!" he noted, hoping Praxis would get off his crushed bed now.

"Oh, well, that's alright then." And with that, he got off and headed out the door. Erol took a few minutes to erase the past few minutes from his memory, knowing someday they'd be back to haunt him. Once done, he set his attention on the mad screams in the hallway, which sounded suspiciously like the cook. It didn't take a genius to work out what was happening, especially with all the "Aww come on! I'm hungry!" whimpers from Praxis mingled in the confusion. Lying back down on his bed, Erol listened to the struggle in the hallway die down after Praxis had won the battle and was seen running past the door, a large pizza gripped in his beefy hands. The sight was a pleasant one for Erol, because he knew that would keep the Baron occupied for a number of hours. Realising this fact, he decided to get some more sleep, and made his way over to close the door.

Reaching the door, Erol peered out and saw a horrible crimson mess covering a large portion of the carpet. That mess could only be Baron-based, since it was remnants of red tomato sauce and the pizza Praxis had been seen evacuating with. Letting his eyes roam further down the hall, he spotted the cook, huddled in a corner looking distressed that he'd been mugged of his pizza. The wooden spoon he carried around as a weapon lay broken at his feet, and the blender he'd used to prepare the sauce had been brutally shattered. The last thing Erol noted before closing his door, was Torn. Storming down the hall, eye twitching and fists clenched, it was a clear sign that Praxis had spoken the truth and was now on the tattooed man's hunting list. Deciding to get out of the firing range before the Underground member could unleash his hate, Erol quickly slammed the door.

A few moments later, sounds of Praxis' panicked screams flooded the Palace, accompanied by Torn's angry shouts. The sound was comforting to most of the Palace residents, and Erol gave a satisfied sigh as he laid back down, ready to get some more shut-eye. Praxis was Torn's problem now.