And now, back to our regular scheduled program...

Part LIX: Landing

Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

As soon as the order was given, they were moving. Long sturdy ropes were flung out, falling down to dangle between the edge of the long cliff side of the mountain and the Citadel, dangling just above the balcony that jutted out from the Citadel, providing the excellent landing spot to begin their mission.

Gripping the rope, Monty ignored the butterflies in his stomach and swung out and down, holding onto the rope for dear life as he slid, nearly plummeting, as the balcony loomed closer and closer. Grateful to the gloves that protected him from rope burns, Monty fell the last couple feet of rope before falling through thin air for seconds before he landed on the balcony. His knees buckled and he collapsed as he put his hand on his gun, breathing hard. Then, slowly, he stood up and stepped aside from the rope for more to come down.

Beside him, Reynyagn and Number 994 slid down their ropes and quickly prepared for a possible attack. None came, and so they stepped toward the door leading inside.

“Good,” Orglan said, sliding down behind them and stepping into their group. “We have landed uninhibited. Let’s go and find the Emperor. The others will help to scour the tower.”

“Alright,” Monty said, gripping the gun more tightly. Slowly, he and the others walked into the tower. Dust clumped together on the forsaken crumbling walls, fungus growing up between the cracks and obscuring the once-beautiful artwork that had once adorned the walls, now a testament to how long the Citadel had been forgotten and left alone. At least until now.



The wind flew past him as Flek angled the glider toward the large window that he and his companions were supposed to fly through. As the glider began to slow him down, Flek passed through the window, bringing his feet up to hit the ground and slow down to a stop. Stripping off the hang glider, Flek quickly drew his arjla corsha swords as he quickly made note of everything in the room. The long rotting dining table. The broken picture on the floor. The shattered glass all over the floor. The broken plate.

Flek checked to make sure no one else was there before turning to Astrid and Rider. “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready for this day since I was born,” Rider said coldly as he drew his long sword. “When the day would come that I would draw out the blood of the immortal tyrant.” His gaze hardened.

“He isn’t immortal,” Astrid said as she checked to make sure she still had her pouch full of herbs and medicines.

“How else could an elf have survived this long?” Rider asked bitterly. “I wish it were not so, Astrid, but there’s no other answer. He has gained immortality, or at least long life, through some means or another. We must kill him."

Astrid drew her corsha knife partway out of its sheath before abandoning it for the gun she had. “Very well. I’m ready.”

“Good,” Flek said. Loping toward the door, he swung, turning his side, as he threw himself into the door. The rotting door broke off its hinges as Flek landed, spinning around with his corsha blades, as he checked for intruders before quickly standing up.

“Coast is clear.”



“Someone’s been here already.” Brother Tomas bent down to gesture at the foot prints and the missing dust upon the dusty floor. “Quite recently I might add.”

“The Emperor and his cohort,” Zarien said.

“Perhaps,” Brother Tomas said, standing back up. “It could merely be a scouting force, but yet…” He slowly nodded. “It’s as good of a lead its any. We would be fools not to follow it.”

“Aye,” Zarien said, as he pressed himself against the wall before quickly sliding down around it to the next corner. “Coast is clear.”

“Good,” Brother Tomas said, running to where Zarien was, Jroldin running to catch up with his short legs.

“The Emperor cannot hide forever,” Zarien said, and continued to make his way down the wall to the next corner. “We’ll catch him before that.”


Sirens blared outside as Sereth instinctively moved for cover. “What are the sirens for?!” she yelled as Jaigran spun around, grabbing his communicator from his belt.

“What’s happening?” Jaigran yelled into the communicator.

“A group of orcs are attacking the camp!” his aide’s voice came in.

“Orcs?!”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Remember Operation Northland where we scoured the Northland for the rebel orcish tribes? I believe those tribes are attacking it.”

Jaigran swore. “How many of them? Where are they!”

“A good many sir. They’re coming in through mechanical hang gliders. Some scouts say they saw some fly into the Citadel.”

Jaigran swore again. “Fight them off. Call in the elven scout ships and get them to stop their descent. Send a whole regiment into the Citadel to meet with me and kill any intruders.”

“A whole regiment, sure? But, compared to our small defense force here, that’s taking out-”

“Do it!” Jaigran yelled. “No questions asked.”

“Yes sir.”

The communicator clicked off and Jaigran savagely put it back in his belt. “Wedge the book shelves against the door!” he yelled. “There’s an attack on the camp by some rebel orcs, some of which are in the tower. We don’t know yet how powerful or smart or how many they are, so we’re going to take no risks. Barricade in the door and then stand your ground!”


Farshore looked down through his telescope at the battle unfolding on the Citadel between the still-growing amount of orcs on the plateau and the forces of the Emperor. He could see the elven scout ships coming from afar off. Let them come. They would come, but they would miss the key part of their plan: the assassination force that would take out the Emperor.

Sorry for not posting Saturday... Saturday was a busy day and I didn't get the chance. But here is my list of the characters of the Arquenia Saga, with descriptions. I had already typed half of this up before WORD crashed and I lost everything. -_- Back to square one it was... Anyways, enjoy! Hopefully this helps to keep everything straight.

Xavier Team

Astrid: A human medic in Araelia, Astrid got involved with a deadly gang who were mysteriously tied to mysterious heart attacks that hit some key figures of the populace. While acting as a spy, to keep her cover and her life, she ended up murdering a man, an event which so tramautized her so as to make her nearly leave Araelia for ever. Now, as a member of the Xavier team, she works to stop Jaigran… and forget her wrong doings of the past

Jroldin: The son of the head of the FRI, Jroldin had just become an “adult” in dwarf standing, when he was called to join the Xavier Team. A witty member of the team whose official name is Jacob, Jroldin believes he’s having the time of his life as a member of the Xavier Team and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Flek: The best goblin warrior of his time, Flek weilds two deadly arjla corsha swords in his battle against the elves. Trained for battle since the day he was born and a favorite of Lord Freglak, Flek suffers from a mysterious voice in his head who is able to measure some sort of control over him. How much is unknown.

Reynyagn: One of the few Sla’ad who survived the Great War, Reynyagn fell into the hands of the humans and remained in prison until the Great Upheaval, his only friend at that time being the then-Triumvirate member Astrid, the now-governor of Araelia. Following the Upheaval, Reynyagn worked to lead the scattered Sla’ad and keep them alive in the aftermath of the Upheaval. After being captured by the elves while defending his tribe, Reynyagn managed to fall into the hands of the goblins, and from there worked to join the Xavier Team. Now he attempts to bring an end to the elves, and the elf who led the Massacre of the Sla’ad: Emperor Jaigran.

Zarien: A previous member of an elven resistance group, Zarien fought hard to bring down the rest of his race from their dominance before he lost his leg. After that, everything went downhill, leading to his group’s fall and his escape from the Mothership. Now, he works to again fight against the elves with the Xavier Team, and make restitution for the death of his friends.

Rider: Serving a life-time sentence at the elven labor camps because of his parents deeds, Rider managed to escape and stumble into Araelia. Now, he works out his burning vengeance against the elves on the Xavier Team, awaiting the day when Jaigran would be dead and the world would be set right. Set right in a flood of elven blood.

Number 994: A noble orc who managed to make his way through the ranks, Number 994 was faithfully serving the Emperor and the Garum when a surprise string of events led to him being branded as a traitor. Now, Number 994 acts the part of a traitor as he works with the Xavier Team under the guise of being their friend. Number 994 awaits the day when he will be able to rejoin his comrades and prove his loyalty to them: by betraying the Xavier Team.


Companions:

Kaln: Flek’s best friend, Kaln was a short goblin who faithfully helped Flek before being killed after being captured by a Northland orc tribe.

Monty: The brother of Astrid, Monty works to try and guide and be there for Astrid as he helps the Xavier Team on in their mission. Worried about his sister’s emotional health after she murdered one of her patients, Monty works to try and bring Astrid around to a faith in the Great One.

Brother Tomas: A mentor to Jroldin, Brother Tomas instructs Jroldin on how to fulfill his role as the Priest-King.


Araelians:

Oldin: The leader of the FRI and the father of Jroldin, Oldin often drowns himself in work to avoid feeling the pain of his wife’s death. He now works on a case of trying to figure out who has been causing the mysterious heart attacks of some of the key players in their investigation.

Iraina: A successful businessman, Iraina has worked for ten years to successfully build up a platform upon which to challenge Governor Astrid. Now, he seeks to win the populace to him in order to succeed in ousting the Governor in an attempt to further his plans.

Astrid: A member of the ruling Triumvirate before the Upheaval, as well as a member of the first Xavier Team, now as Governor of Araelia, Astrid works to keep the remnants of the human race safe from the elves.


Goblins:

Erklen: One of Freglak’s chief commanders, Erklen leads the troops on the battlefront against the elves.

Flindle: One of Erklen’s chief assistants, Flindle is a strange goblin who leads the airforce.

Freglak: The Lord of the elves, Freglak works in his plot to overthrow the elves. He now works to try and hold back a group of seething priests while defending himself against the elven onslaught, bearing the loss of two of his greatest aides in this fight.

Jaine: The High Priest of the Mothertree, Jaine works to try and use the priests’ power to overthrow Freglak, who has overstepped his bounds for too long.


Orc Tribes:

Farshore Garum: The brutal leader of one of the orc tribes, Farshore uses any and all means that he has to protect his territory from all intruders. He now has taken control of part of the Xavier Team and seeks to use them to destroy Jaigran.

Orglan Garum: The leader of one of the small resistance Northland tribes to Farshore, Orglan seeks to, with his new allies, take out the greatest threat of all: Jaigran.



Villains:

Jaigran: Emperor of Arquenia, Jaigran was a member of the previous Xavier Team in the Great War against the Sla’ad. A faithful member of the team, after suffering the loss of his love, Jaigran threw himself into annihilating the Sla’ad. At the Great Massacre, he finally broke and used his talents for his own power. Returning to his homeland to rally his people, upon being refused political power, Jaigran set in works a scheme to take the power once and for all. Taking it all in the Great Upheavel, Jaigran now proudly rules over Arquenia as he works to stamp out the remnants of the rebel groups once and for all

Unyihi Garum: The leader of the orcs following Jaigran, Unyihi is a rare mix of the lightning and fire genes of the orcs, making an orc who is able to command both of the two elements.


Other:

Hazael: A mostly-silent winged elven guard with secret leanings to the resistance.

Sereth: An archaeologist, Sereth travelled around to many of the crumbling sites to write about them before they finally crumble out of existence. She now guides Jaigran through the crumbling Tzel-Maret in search of some secret object that he wants. If she knew what he wanted, she might not have come.

Cortna: Sereth’s sister, and a member of Zarien’s rebel group before it was destroyed. After its destruction, Jaigran brainwashed her to make her follow him. Now, silent and unresponding, she serves the Emperor.

Part LVIII: Exploration

Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

The first orange beams of the morning slowly crept over and through the stiff mountains as the sun slowly began to emerge from the sky, shedding its rays on where Sereth sat, knees folded against her chest, on the top of the small crag overlooked part of the camp, and played her guitar, trying to find herself at peace with the world.  But it appeared that the world was instead at odds with her, breaking whatever peace she had managed to keep to herself from the long journey from her archaeological dig to the ancient citadel with the reviled Emperor of Arquenia.  An Emperor that had tortured her sister and shaped her mind beyond recognition.  Sereth knew the truth.  Cortna was gone, lost in the cage that had been created for her.  And she would never return.

Sereth strummed harder, pouring out all her anger into her piece which vibrated across the mountains and cried out the pain and damage that had been wrought to the world.  Burn.  Everything would burn.  Everything would burn into the world was made right.

“Sereth.”  Sereth jolted up and nearly dropped her guitar as she spun around. 

“Sorry for frightening.  It is I, Hazael,” the tall winged elf said. 

Sereth stepped back.  “Oh, well it’s you…  well, what do you want?”

“Jaigran plans on having guard today,” Hazael said.

“Well, I would assume he would, being the Emperor and all, but watchadoes that mean for me?  It’s not like I’d try and kill him,” Sereth said, flippantly.  Well, actually, if I had the chance and the means, I might be tempted to kill him if he had no guards, but…

“He plans have sister for guard.”

Sereth dropped her guitar, fingers flinging downward so that she managed to barely catch it before it hit the ground.  Sereth’s head snapped up as she gazed at Hazael.  “He what?!”

“He try to jolt you.  Worried that you be rebel like her.  Wants to keep you from doing it,” Hazael said.  “Put on mask.  No look distracted.”

Sereth pursed her lips hard.  “I would…” she said.  “With my bare hands…  och, I don’t a know what I would do.  Something else.”  She sat down on one of the rocks.  “I don’t even want to kill him, and…  and all of this-”  Her voice broke off.

“I know,” Hazael said.  “But must hurry.  Cannot be late.”

“No, I suppose I can’t,” Sereth said, slowly putting her guitar over his shoulder.

“Carry you, shall I, so you arrive quick?” Hazael asked, putting out his hands.

“Aye,” Sereth said.  “I…  Thank you.”

“What I can do, I do,” Hazael said. 


There was a resounding crack, and then the ancient lumber collapsed, falling from its hinges into a pile of rubble on the floor as two of the guards instantly thrust their fire-sticks into the darkness behind the door, causing all shadows to flee.  Sereth pointed out with her flashlight and moved the beam along the walls and ceiling of the new passage.

“Get on with it,” Jaigran snapped.

“Ah yes,” Sereth said.  “If my memory hold me right, I believe that this was part of an older bit of the citadel.  It leads to a cellar of wine, if my memory holds me right.  Good wine, it was.  When it’s been held down there for so long, it-“

“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Jaigran snapped, looking around as if he expected an assailant to creep up on him.  “I’ll take your word on it.  If there’s nothing to see here, then move along.”

"Well, begging your pardon, Emperor, I don’t know if there’s anything there or not,” Sereth said.  “I don’t exactly know what we’re looking for, so-”

“Our object won’t be in the cellar,” Jaigran snapped.  “At least it shouldn’t be.  We’ll investigate all other places before we look there.  Trust me, Sereth.  It won’t be down in the cellar.”

“As you wish, your Majesty,” Sereth cautiously said, trying to keep herself betraying her weakness and looking at her mute sister.

“And it won’t be any dark places either,” Jaigran said, obviously not done yet.  “Higher in the Citadel, where there’s light.  We’ll only go down into the underground portions of this Citadel if we’ve looked everywhere else first.”

“Y-yes, Emperor,” Sereth said.  “We can go to the uppermost parts of the Citadel first.”

“Aye, we will,” Jaigran said.  “Lead on, elf.  Show us the other portions of the Citadel.”


“And this here was the Great Library of Tzel-Maret,” Sereth said, pushing past the rotting door into the great room featuring shelves full of moth-eaten books, fragile enough to shatter at a mere touch. 

“What set it apart from other libraries,” Jaigran asked, seeming to have relaxed more to be partly enjoying her tour.

“Well, it used to feature a lot of the historical records and reports of the kings,” Sereth said.  “That is the primary reason that many historians believe it to have been the elven capitol at one point.  It was an outpost as well, so it featured a lot more foreign works than the other libraries in the country.  As a matter of fact, if I have all my facts correct, I believe that it was well known as being an outpost for travelers from all around the place and was traditionally a place of diplomacy.  Not that that specifically relates to the Great Library, I suppose, but it might explain why there were so many foreign books in this library.”

“Interesting,” Jaigran said, slowly picking up a book and blowing off the dust.  A couple pages blew off with it.  Jaigran looked at the book for a couple moments before slowly letting it slip through his fingers and collapse on the floor.  Jaigran looked up.

“Search the library,” Jaigran ordered.  “Report anything unusual you find.”

Yes, yes, I know... this -part is shorter than most, but it was done and many of my posts as of late had been longer than average. So it's okay.

Part LVII: Leap of Faith

Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

The iron-clad steam engine of ages past slowly moved into the underground station at a quarter past midnight, slowly hissing to a stop with a sudden outburst of steam. The gears locked. And then the doors opened.

The Garum exited the train first, attended by his four guards. He was followed by a group of six, all clad in brown cloaks and shivering beneath them because of the frigid air in the mountainous chambers.

“Guards!” Farshore Garum snapped, marching up to the nearest guard. “Is the blasted Emperor still here?”

“He’s still at Tzel-Maret, from all reports,” the guard timidly replied.

“At least we have that much,” Farshore snapped. “The winter snows on the track did well enough to keep us away, it was as if fate itself conspired against us.” Farshore turned on a heel to gaze at his travelling companions.

“Very well,” he finally said. “We’re here, and the garrison had better dang well be ready after the long wait they’ve gotten to enjoy.” He turned back to the guard. “Round up the garrison and make sure everything is prepared for our attack. We strike at daybreak.”



Astrid bundled a bit tighter in her clothes before slowly stepping out the door onto the cliff overlooking the world with the rest of her friends. Before them there was a narrow valley between their mountain and the mount that contained Tzel-Maret some hundred feet up from where they were, as well as being across the mountain gap.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“I know,” Rider solemnly said, turning to Astrid. “But we must be brave. We must forgo our fear if we have a chance of standing against the ancient nemesis. We must have courage. For without it, we will surely fail.”

“Well said,” Brother Tomas agreed. “Well said, Rider.”

“How are we supposed to get up there?” Flek said, gesturing to the gap between them and the Citadel. “It isn’t as if there aren’t a dozen elven airships patrolling the area night and day to keep the life of their forsaken Emperor alive.”

“Farshore has a plan,” Rider reluctantly said. “Once we get up to the top of this mountain, he has a lot of mechanical glider sort of things that we can use to fly over to their citadel.”

Flek turned, a look of excitement in his eyes. “We’re going to be engaging in aerial combat? We’re going to fight with wings?!”

Rider smiled, and shook his head. “They’re not that good,” he said. “They’re basically hang-gliders that the orcs manufactured so that somehow they don’t get affected by winds. It’s a one-way journey over there and nothing else. According to Farshore, they are quite burdensome, so we’re not going to want to fight with those on.”

“Still,” Flek said. “Fighting with wings would have given us an advantage.”

“True enough, true enough…” Rider said. “Unfortunately, it’s an advantage that we aren’t going to be able to enjoy.”



“You fight in trios!” Farshore bellowed out. “You are to always stick together with your designated companions at all times while they are still living. Join up with other trios if you wish, but stick together. And be moving constantly! We can’t let them pick us apart. Orcs, you know your designated parts.” He turned to the Xavier Team. “Dwarf, shorter elf, and man: you three will be one group. The rest of you,” he said, gesturing to Rider, Astrid, and Flek, “will be the other. You understand?”

“Yes,” Jroldin said as Farshore walked off to go and deal with the other members of the assassination force. Jroldin turned to his two team mates. “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” Brother Tomas said, tightening the straps on the heavy mechanical hang-glider.

“As am I,” Zarien said. He turned, to look out at the impasse that separated them from Tzel-Maret. “At least, as ready as I could be.”

“You’ll be fine,” Brother Tomas said, encouragingly.

“As long as the elves don’t figure out how to take me out and have their orc friends train their lightning on my leg,” Zarien said, shaking his mechanical leg.

“I’m sure the protections Farshore and his orcs gave to your leg will be enough to protect it,” Brother Tomas said.

“Still,” Zarien said. “Anything could happen. My skill as a fighter has been drastically reduced since I lost it.” There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

“Well, at the least, you’re a better fighter than me,” Jroldin said. “I haven’t had nearly the experience you had.”

“Aye, but you got that.” Zarien jabbed his finger at the golden corsha axe. “And I saw you in the training center in that last city. And I’m telling you, there’s something different about that weapon.”

“Only like there is with all corsha weapons.” Jroldin shrugged.

“Yeah, but I’m telling you…” Zarien’s voice trailed off.

“No use bickering over our own skill before the battle,” Brother Tomas said. “You’ll both do fine.”

“Ready?!” Farshore’s cry came out from behind them.

“Yeah, we’re ready!” Zarien yelled. Other similar cries of ascent came from the other groups of trios. Jroldin bent down a bit and moved a bit to get a better feel for his wings before focusing on the plateau beyond and beneath him. And then the sound to go was given. And Jroldin leapt in the air, flying with the rest of the flock of warriors down to the Citadel of Tzel-Maret.

Question of the Day: A quick summary of how you think the battle will go.

I will say this. Flindle in this part was going to be a just a minor background character with a couple lines... But then I decided to give him Major Erklen's role in this part and have Erklen do something else... And then I thought Flindle was too boring and gave him an interesting speech pattern... And then--well, you get the picture.

Part LVI: At the Brink

Date: Yippah 24th, 114 A.U.

Major Erklen quickly ran down the crag, making sure that all of the fortifications were sure and that all the soldiers in their place, armed with both a gun and a corsha sword for close combat. They had only recently gotten a large shipment of guns from Lord Freglak, who somewhere had managed to go around the ancient edict given by the priests forbidding guns as unholy weapons that the heretics used. Major Erklen did his best to avoid the sharp tensions between the priests and the government; he just did his job and ignored all the politics. Because, as every goblin knows, there’s no surer way to die than politics. Unless you’re a priest. The priests always win.

“Are all the forces ready?” Major Erklen turned toward his second in command, a goblin who he’d been relying on more heavily on with everything that he was trying to do to keep their forces from falling under the aerial might of the elves.

“What? Oh, yes sir! It is ready; everything ready is!” Flindle, his 2nd in Command rapidly said. Flindle was in charge of the aerial might of the goblin troops and in trying to keep back the greater elven attack ships that did a Mother’s Tree worth of damage on their infantry whenever it got past the defenses.

“Good,” Major Erklen said. “Do your best to keep back the elven fighters.”

“I’ll do my best sir—the best I will do!” Flindle said. “But, well, I’m sorry sir, but when I look at this campaign long-term, for long-term the campaign will be , we can’t hold back the elves forever, sir—the elves won’t hold back forever. Many sacrifices must make we to keep them back for each battle—battles determine sacrifices.”

“I understand,” Major Erklen said. “I’ve been petitioning Lord Freglak to try and find some way to help us turn the tide, for without that, it seems that this will be too sure of a defeat for us and for our people.”


Flindle quickly checked in on his companions and then leapt into his aircraft, buckled himself into his seat and pressed a button to enter into the intercom. “Is everyone ready—everyone ready must be!” Flindle said. “Fly off the airstrip in order—as usual we will do things. I will go first and waiting—yes, waiting will be, but not for long. The battle soon must commence and again we must fight.”

Exiting the intercom, Flindle quickly checked all the lights and then pressed on the throttle to steer over to the broken makeshift runway. Flindle took a deep breath and then ran down the runway and broke up above the treeline to be flying above the forest. Cycling around, Flindle saw the great aircraft of the elves making for them and signaled Major Erklen. The elves were making the first move.

They were coming.


Their troops weren’t prepared for the first bomb that was thrown, a bomb that ripped apart the left flank of their defenses and killed enough goblins before open fire from behind the trees took out a good many more. Major Erklen cursed and tried to rally up their defenses and find the elves that were trying to lure them out with their guerilla warfare. Erklen wanted nothing more than to unleash their troops on the elves if not for the fact that such a move would require an abandonment of their defenses—defenses that represented the last defenses before the first major goblin city.

"Find them! Shoot them!” Major Erklen yelled, paying no attention to his own safety. “Use your flamethrowers and put those trees in blazes to draw them out! Move!”

A couple bullets whizzed by his head, but Erklen paid them no heed. “Hold your line fast!” he yelled to their flank’s commander. “Drive them out from the trees and shoot them down, but do not break the defenses!”


Flindle quickly maneuvered his fighter to narrowly avoid the missile intended for him. Zeroing in on part of the great elven aircraft, Flindle pressed at the release button, letting loose a barrage of bullets that smashed through the armor of the ship. Swooping down near the side of the ship, Flindle swiped at another button, releasing a magnetic plate-bomb that fell off the fighter and, propelled by an invisible force, moved hard to attach itself to the aircraft. Avoiding the bullets intended for him, Flindle flew away from the aircraft moments before the bomb went up, blowing up half the aircraft, leaving the other half to begin its plummet to the earth. But there were still many more aircraft.

All around him, their fighters were faltering. To his left, a fighter exploded after being hit head-on by a missile. A few still tried to swarm the greater elven airships and take them down, but the majority were doing all that they could just to avoid being killed by the barrage of the elven aircraft. Flindle had known that this would be a tough defense to make, but…

He had hoped that they might be able to hold out longer than this.

Seconds later, the exploding remains of another goblin fighter tore off the main engine of Flindle’s fighter.



As hoped, the blazing inferno that was kindled in the forest drove out the elves. Hiding behind makeshift cover, the elves continued to press forward, moving to the feet of the crags to avoid fire. Erklen was sure that they would soon be attempting to scale it. He couldn’t have been more correct.

Moving out from the trees, a regiment of tall winged elves burst out, quickly shortening the distance between them and the crags as they madly shot, sending defenders fleeing. Erklen spotted the equipment that three of the winged elves were carrying and instantly understood their strategy. All they needed to know was to make a foothold on the crags and put scaling equipment in place to get their companions with them on the cliff.

They could not be allowed to make such a foothold.


Flames shot from the rear of his fighter as Flindle went down. Everything wasn’t working. He couldn’t shoot anything, and steering was crazy, as if trying to control one’s route while flying down rapids in a river. And there was no way to steer upwards. It was all one dramatic descent, a descent that Flindle could only see ending with a climatic collision with the ground.

Flindle maneuvered the fighter past the last line of trees into a plain that stretched for miles, flee of trees and other tall obstacles except for a line of cliffs quickly approaching. Flindle moved the throttle to upwards but to no avail,. As Flindle saw his life flash before his eyes, he watched the line of cliffs come up before him, thick ivy covering the cliff that he was about to hit. Flindle made the sign of the Mother Tree and prayed that he would have a merciful after life. There wasn’t going to be anything else in this life for him.

Like with the last book, the story lines are again beginning to come together for a big climax... For those curious, from my current planning, I'll be running the serial till the end of May, at which Book II: The Northlands will end. During the summer I may have an interlude of one post a week, or I may have nothing. More info will come.

Part LV: Overlooking Peak

Date: Yippah 15th, 114 A.U.

The citadel of Tzel-Maret loomed in its crag over many of the surrounding mountains, dwarfed only by the mountain that it stood on, which towered high over the citadel that had nestled in its highest plateau, the citadel that had become the cornerstone of the fortress of ages gone by. Large elven airships constantly hovered and flew over the peak, in vigilance of their Emperor, an elf who had lived longer than any other elf that any could remember. It was this elf that they were going to assassinate.

Monty shivered in his brown garb as he tentatively stepped out of the white camouflaged shelter, looking around for any nearby aircraft. Monty regretfully shed his outer brown coat for the thinner white coat underneath and then lowered himself to the ground, crawling through the bitter snow, until he got to the edges of the cliff.

Looking down over the cliff below, Monty looked at the tall citadel that jutted out from the plateau and at the numerous smaller towers and walls and buildings around it. He noted the tan tents that the Emperor had set up and the larger colorful one that Monty presumed the Emperor stayed in. They had been so close for days now and there was still no sign of being ready to go down.

Sighing, Monty contemplated how much longer he would be staying out here. The fresh air was better than the stifled air in their small camouflaged tents, but…

The bitter cold of a prolonged winter in the mountains decided against Monty staying out. And, shivering, Monty crawled back to the tent, earnestly adopting his brown coat over his white one as he quickly stepped back in the tent.


Monty contemplated what move he ought next to make in Regicide, putting his hand under his chin as he thought hard. Reynyagn absently gazed toward him. Finally, Monty shook his head as he moved a piece.

“Dang it, you trapped that unit,” Monty said, resigning himself to a loss.

A semblance of a smile played across Reynyagn’s face. “So it would appear that I have.”

Monty put his arms against his chest to guard against the cold air that came in through the thin fabric of the tent. “When is that orc infiltrator going to get back with his report.”

“Orglan said that he would send another orc to try and infiltrate if we have nothing by noon tomorrow,” Reynyagn said as he gazed across the board. “Our infiltrator may be dead. Or he may not be able to get here yet because of the storms that have raged across these mountains for the last several days.”

“Tell me about the storms,” Monty grumbled as he reached for a stale piece of bread. “I have been freezing these past couple days because they won’t leave us alone. What I wouldn’t give to be a Sla’ad at this time.”

Reynyagn smiled, moving his arms so as to point out his bare arms, unmoved by the bitter accommodations around them. Leaning over, he moved two of his pieces to capture one of Monty’s.

“At the very least,” Reynyagn said, “we’ve had a good bit of luck hiding from the elven airships.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the least bit of luck we could have,” Monty said. “We could have gone with our missions days ago if we’d been able to get something from the infiltrator sooner.”

“It is all happening according to the plan of the Great One,” Reynyagn said. “And there is no use complaining against what he says.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Monty said, sighing. He pursed his lips. “I worry about Astrid so much… To be apart captured by orcs… possibly dead too, and she still has refused to come to believe.”

“She’s in the hands of the Great One, now,” Reynyagn said. “Our duty is to do what we can to return justice to this land, which is best done here.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Monty said, moving three pieces. “I just pray that it is in the plan of the Great One to keep her safe.”

Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

“We have our report! We have our report!” An orc ran into the tent where Monty sat with Reynyagn and Orglan eating breakfast.. Monty hurriedly turned around to face the excited messenger, jubilant with the news of a report.

“What does he say?” Monty asked, intent to hear everything about the situation as possible.

“The snowstorms prevented him from getting his message anytime sooner,” the orc said. “He wasn’t able to get to the meeting point until dawn today. He confirmed that the Emperor is here, as we had already guessed.”

“At least that’s confirmed,” Reynyagn said.

“Yes,” the orc said. “He said that the Emperor is here to find something in the ruins of Tzel-Maret, possibly in the Citadel.”

“What could the Emperor want in Tzel Maret?” Orglan asked, looking a bit confused.

“I don’t know,” the orc said. “He was very tight lipped about the whole operation. As is, the snow storm halted his efforts and from what I can gather, the Emperor isn’t leaving till he finds whatever he’s looking for. He brought in some elven guide yesterday to lead him through the Citadel today to find his object.”

“The Emperor will be in the Citadel today, then,” Orglan confirmed.

“Yes,” the orc said. “He should be there right now, I would guess. He was very clear that he refused to waste any time at all in getting it done. Our spy also said that even if Jaigran found it today, that he’d probably stick around for at least tomorrow, but beyond that…”

“It’s done,” Orglan said, turning to Reynyagn. “You ready?” Reynyagn nodded.

Orglan turned back to the messenger. “Then tell every one to be ready. In a half hour we begin the operation just as planned. Everyone must be in their specific places. You got it?”

“Yes, zar!” the orc messenger said, and he left the room.

“It’s time then,” Monty said, standing up.

“It’s time,” Reynyagn said. And he tightened his sword-strap.

_On to Tzel-Maret and our Scottish elf friend..

Part LIV: Tzel-Maret

Date: Yippah 15th, 114 A.U.

“So this is the young elf-maid who has explored these ruins.” Walking as if he had an aura of greatness around him, the short emperor walked up, looking up at the tall elf, the emperor’s wings shadowing over him.

“Aye, I am Sereth,” Sereth said. “I came here with my parents about a decade ago, back when they were still alive.” An involuntary shiver went down Sereth’s spine.

“Very good,” Jaigran said, staring up at her with beady eyes. His black wings slowly flapped and he rose to meet her eyes.

“What does the noble emperor want here?” Sereth asked, swallowing back the knot in her stomach.

Jaigran laughed. “There is no need to burden yourself with my many titles,” he said. “You may call me emperor. As for my purpose here, I have come to seek out the Citadel of Tzel-Maret.”

Sereth’s eyes flicked up to the tall tower that overshadowed the city. “What’s there?”

Jaigran licked his lips. “There could be something; there could be nothing at all; call it a hunch, will you?” His eyes narrowed. “Come. We have wasted much time. Snow storms have kept us at bay ever since we’ve arrived.”

Sereth slowly followed the Emperor as he flew in front of her, accompanied by the guards with the fire-sticks. “So, my Emperor, if I am correct, you want me to guide you through the Citadel?”

“Yes, along with any information you can give me concerning this place,” the Emperor snapped as he flew down to the ground near a large tent. “Come in.” Sereth slowly pushed back the tent flap to follow the Emperor into the tent. The Emperor walked over to a short table, a map spread about it. Sereth walked over to the table.

“It was your parents,” the Emperor said, noting the look of recognition in Sereth’s eyes. “I was able to recover it given some unfortunate deeds concerning your family.” The tent flap moved behind her and Sereth noticed the lead elf from her ship enter. Sereth automatically flinched, still afraid of what he would do—or if he would tell Jaigran his suspicions about Cortna.

Jaigran tapped his finger, causing Sereth’s train of thought to break. “Pay attention,” the Emperor snapped. “As I was saying, my chief librarians, idiots that they are, could not find any real relevant information on Tzel-Maret except for its position as the previous fortress of the elves. I was hoping that you would have more to say than they had on this subject.” There was an edge to his voice.

“Ah yes, Tzel-Maret!” Sereth said, nervously laughing. “My parents did a lot of research on it before coming ‘ere to this place. I believe that at one point it was one of the chief cities and fortresses of the elves a millennia ago, or so. And, in fact, some sources suggested it might have even been the capitol at some point in time.”

“What happened to it?” Jaigran’s eyes seemed to dig deep into her, as if he knew her every thought.

“Well, I believe that it gradually faded from precedence,” Sereth said. “It was attacked by an orcish tribe seven hundred years ago and was raided and pillaged of many of its treasures. Some inhabitants returned, but I believe they were mostly a secretive bunch that clung to the old ways. I believe some of them were still around here, as well. We caught sight of one when we were here ten years ago.”

“Ah, those elves,” Jaigran snapped. “Some of my guards have enjoyed hunting them down. We can’t have any potential threats, of course.”

“Of course,” Sereth said, swallowing hard.

“You haven’t heard of any supernatural powers here, though,” Jaigran said.

Sereth searched her memory. “No, well, I’m afraid not, Emperor. I don’t remember anything about magical artifacts and such here, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Very well,” Jaigran said. He pondered the map for a few moments before looking up. “You may leave. I expect you to return here promptly at daybreak to guide me through the Citadel of Tzel-Maret. You will not be late.”

“Yes, sir,” Sereth said, not wanting to know what Jaigran would do to her if she was late.

“One thing, Emperor, sir…” The lead elf from the ship that had taken her here stood up and walked over to Jaigran. Sereth turned to leave as the lead elf whispered something in Jaigran’s ear.
Sereth had just pushed back the tent flap to leave when Jaigran spoke. “One thing, Sereth…”

Sereth slowly turned around, her gaze darting from the lead elf to the Emperor. “Yes, Emperor Jaigran?” A cold pit was forming in her stomach.

“Goran here has reminded me that you have a sister, do you not?” Goran quickly walked out of the room while Jaigran’s eyes stared her down.

Sereth swallowed hard. “Och, well,” she said, nervously laughing. “I’m not quite sure what Goran told you, but the rebel couldn’t be my sister. A stout Imperialist she is, just like me.”

“Ah, but like I said,” Jaigran said smoothly, a glimmer in his eye. “I did do the research on you before recruiting you, and as well as finding your parent’s map, I did come across an interesting bit of
information.”

“Yu don’t mean to tell me that my sister is the rebel, do you, Emperor Jaigran?” Sereth asked.

“Ah, but it is true,” Jaigran said, slowly tracing his finger along the mouth as words slowly trickled out of his mouth. “But that’s not to worry about, of course. Your sister’s failings are not yours, also.”

“Of course, Emperor,” Sereth said. Behind her, the tent opened and Sereth turned to see who it was. Sereth’s mouth dropped.

Standing in front of her was what looked like to be a mirror—a duplicate image of herself staring back at her. But no. For this mirror was different. Her mirror’s eyes were glossed over, her fingers displaying scars that Sereth knew that she didn’t have. Her mirror image was clothed in the traditional garb of a soldier, carrying a fire stick and a gun. And the little twitch—the movement in her eye—no, but this wasn’t a mirror. She looked identical, but there was something… something deathly different. And then Sereth went cold.

From behind her, Emperor Jaigran gave a low laugh. “You would be correct to say she is a stout Imperialist, Sereth. Oh yes, but she is indeed an Imperialist now.”

Sereth would have sworn. But she no longer seemed to have the ability to move her mouth. Her mirror image cocked her head, and then slowly walked past her, as if Cortna didn’t recognize her sister.

And Sereth knew.

Question of the Day: Tell a story about Tzel-Maret...

_Part LIII: Slaves of the Mind

Date: Yippah 13th, 114 A.U.

Flek awoke to feel a dull biting pain in the back of his head, as if something had burrowed its way into his head and had latched itself there, some alien substance feeding off of his body. Flek put his hand back to peel whatever it was off of his head before he remembered what it was.

The byproduct of Rider’s deal with the orcs that put him and all of his teammates into a permanent subjugation to the orcs.

Not for all of us, Flek.

Flek cringed and looked around at his sleeping companions before glaring, as if glaring back deep inside his head. Yeah, yeah, material harm doesn’t hurt you.

You are not subjugated, Flek.

Flek paused and squinted. What?

Do you think that they can have such power over you when I am with you, Flek? Nay, but their implant is useless for you, except for the scars that now line the back of your head. Their little implant is powerless—it is unable to destroy you. I have rendered it null and useless to you. You do not need to fear it.

And my companions? But Flek already knew the answer.

The voice in his head laughed. Ah, Flek. You know the answer yourself, do you not? I do not help them like I have helped you.

Yeah, yeah, I figured that. But you are supposed to help me. Can you not do anything to aid us?

Ah, Flek, but you know the powers and the limitations of your power. I can help you, yes, but only so much as you can help yourself.

Flek gritted his teeth and watched as Jroldin began to stir. Wishing to get away from the smooth voice in his head as soon as possible, Flek walked over and nudged Jroldin. Jroldin rolled over and stared up at him.

“Wha…” Jroldin began. He then shook his head and sat up, feeling at the back of his head. “They did the operation then.”

“Aye.” Flek nodded. “We are now enslaved to them for the rest of our lives, unless by some miracle we manage to be made free of these cursed contraptions.”

“Bother,” Jroldin said. He stood up and brushed himself off. “I had wanted to be Jaigran’s slave, not the slave of a stinkin’ orc.” Flek laughed; he had heard plenty from Jroldin about how he tried to tick his captors off. Flek cocked his head as he realized that that must mean that there was some kind of security camera in the room.

“Anyways,” Jroldin said. “I suppose that would explain why they gave us our weapons back.” Jroldin walked over to their stack of weapons and pulled out his golden corsha axe. Flek snatched up his corsha arjla swords as Jroldin looked ponderously at his golden axe. He slowly swung it and then pursed his lips.

“I guess we should be moving out of this dungeon as well,” Flek said. “I mean, it’s not like we can really hurt them anymore.” Flek walked over to the door. “I could even cut through the locks now. Flek swung his swords around.

“Probably would be best not to,” Jroldin said. “I think they’d be throwing a temper tantrum up there if we did something that they didn’t tell us to do.”

Flek thought back to the lecturer who had told them all of their dos and donts of Rider’s agreement with Farshore before they had had the implant. “Might not be wisest to try and tick off people who have your life in the palm of your hand,” Flek said softly as he ran his hand around the lock. “They might just decide you’re better dead than alive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jroldin said. “They know that my secret powers are so great that they wouldn’t dare killing me and endangering their assassination plan for Mr. Jaigran.”

Flek glanced sideways at Jroldin’s bluff and then turned to their still unconscious companions on the ground. “How soon should we wake them up?”

“In time,” Jroldin said. “Might as well let them sleep now, hopefully in some carefree world where there aren’t any orcs. Say, that would be a good place to be in.”

“We wouldn’t have Number 994…” Flek said.

“He’s already dead,” Jroldin said.

“Oh…” Flek said, suddenly remembering Number 994’s death… and the death of his beloved counselor Reynyagn. Flek pursed his lips and turned on a heel. “The orcs did that to him too.”

“It really is a pity, isn’t it?” Flek turned around to see the speaker. Farshore smugly stood by the door, spinning a ring of keys around his hand. “It really is a pity how much we are in complete control and dominance over you and your companions.”

“Shut up,” Flek muttered as he walked over to the door.

“But of course, but of course,” Farshore said, and he laughed. “Get your companions up now. We have plenty of things to inform you of about our coming mission.”

“So much for happyland without any orcs,” Jroldin said as he turned to go arouse his companions.

But Flek lingered near the door for a moment as he stared at the smug leader. “We will be beginning our mission soon.”

“But of course,” Farshore said. “We can’t have Jaigran leaving before we’re ready, after all.” His eyes narrowed and he swiftly unlocked the cell dor. “On the contrary, we must get ready and get going as soon as possible to ensure a timely death of the accursed Emperor.” Farshore turned to leave. “Now go and wake up your companions. The guards will be waiting to take you to the planning room.”

Flek turned from the leaving Garum to look at the wakening companions. Slaves of the orcs, each and every one of them. But he was a slave of the mind.

Question of the Day:Who is the voice in Flek's head?