Part LX: Breakthrough

Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

“I’m picking up something!” Orglan said as he held his ear to the strangely shaped communicator. He listened for a bit before quickly turning it off. He turned to Reynyagn, Monty, and Number 994. “Jaigran is barricading himself in the library. They’ve spotted other attackers.”

“A pity that they know we’re here,” Reynyagn said as he looked around, as if he could see the library. “At least we know where he is. Will your device alert you if they begin to speak again?”

“Yeah, it’ll beep,” Orglan said, tucking it into his belt. “And they won’t know a thing.”

“Excellent,” Monty said. “Can you radio to our ‘eyes’ outside and see if they can see a library within any of the windows?”

“Yes,” Orglan said, taking out another communicator. “I’ll tell them our radio wave hacking paid off.” He quickly gave orders to the orcs outside and then snapped it shut. “Let’s move.”

The group of four ran down the corridor, listening for the sounds of other inhabitants, and ready to attack if needed. To fulfill their mission, they’d have to move—fast. And now that their element of surprise was gone, they were just going to have to use their speed and get to Jaigran before he made ready his escape. They ran down the hall toward a long flight of stairs moving upward and downward and paused, catching their breath.

“I say we go down,” Reynyagn said. “There’s more levels down so there’s a greater chance that he’s down there and up here. If he’s up there, he won’t be going anywhere, either, if we’re on the lower levels.”

“Let’s move,” Orglan said, and moved down the stairs, the others following. Running down the flight of stairs, Orglan stopped at the door, examined it for a moment, and then undid a bolt.

“It’s locked from the inside,” Orglan said, pushing the door open. “Strange.” The group of four moved quickly down the new corridor.


“Get to the side!” That was all the warning that Astrid got before she saw the group of elves move out from the corridor, guns a blazing. Too little time to move to the side, Astrid was about to throw herself to the ground to try and save herself before something slammed into her. Astrid went flying against the wall, caught at the last moment by Flek, who pushed her into a doorway before deflecting one of the bullets with his blade.

“That was a close one!” Flek yelled as he stepped out into the open hall, blocking all the bullets with his swords as he glanced over at her. “Keep under cover!” And then Flek was moving, running past Astrid’s line of sight as he went to engage the firing elves. Rider quickly glanced at her from his doorway at the opposite side of the room, as if to make sure she was safe, before peering around the door frame to take a shot at one of the elves.

Astrid sighed and resigned herself to a position of non-assistance as Flek and Rider fought the battle for her. The fighting went on for a minute before Flek suddenly came back, gun shots still sounding, as he whirled his blades around, blocking all of the attacks.

“They have too many reinforcements coming up behind them!” Flek yelled. “You two! Get out behind me and run down the hall and make an escape! I’ll fend off their shots.”

“But-” Astrid began.

“I’ve been doing this since I was young!” Flek yelled, expertisely blocking each and every bullet. “They can’t touch me! Now move out!”

Rider moved out first, obviously seeing the logic in Flek’s argument, and Astrid followed, running down the hall as Astrid stole glances to make sure that Flek was still alright, standing in the middle of the hall reflecting all their bullets.

They rounded the corner and had just began to run down it when Flek appeared around the corner and raced to catch up with them. “Move!” he yelled. “We have to lose them! Now!”



“We’ve barricaded the second doorway, sir.”

“Good!” Jaigran snapped. “Now are there any other doorways that you haven’t noticed yet?!”

“We’ve cleared the premise of the room, sir,” the elf said. “There are no other doorways.”

“Finally did your job, then,” Jaigran muttered. He looked around the room as he shook his dark wings. “Blast it; I’ll never be able to look out and sea if the skies are clear unless I contact that blasted aide down in the camp. Where’s the nearest window, Sereth?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure, sir,” Sereth said, looking around for some instrument to play to try and calm her ever heightening anxiety. “We’re within the center of the citadel right now. There should be some in the outer rooms, but we’d have to get there first!”

“Look at the map I gave you!” Jaigran yelled. “See where the nearest window is and how easy it is to get there! We’re just sitting ducks in this room if the orcs find us. I have to get out of here!”

You need to get out of here; you don’t care a thing about us… Sereth pursed her lips as she flung open the map, spreading it out across the floor, and suddenly, remembered what her father had done. Placing her hands on two different rooms, she held them tight, letting the warmth from her hands flow into the map.

The heat activating the technology imbedded in the thick paper, suddenly a holographic image of the tower sprung up from the paper, forming a three dimensional model of the tower.

“It does that?!” Emperor Jaigran asked, losing his irate tone of voice for a moment.

“Well, yes sir; I had forgotten about this earlier,” Sereth said, placing her hands on the map and moving them in different directions to zoom in through part of the tower. “My father created this technology when he began his archaeological work, but never told me how to make it myself. I had almost forgotten that he had done this… So here is the library…” She zoomed in on a part. “So the closest window-”

Suddenly, the door to the library splintered and an elf, a dwarf, and a human burst in.

Question of the Week:Who can write their comment in the best Scottish accent?

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.

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?

_Part LII: Tangled in Their Own Web

Date: Yippah 17th, 114 A.U.

Governor Astrid impatiently tapped her foot as she waited for her signal to go out on stage with the talk show host to talk about her campaign. She had argued this as far as she could go with her campaign manager but to no avail. All that her manager had had to do was to bring up the poll numbers—42% for Astrid, 43% for Iraina with 16% undecided, and Astrid knew that she had lost.

The red light flashed. That was the signal. Governor Astrid quickly walked on stage as she spotted the smiling talk show host, Julia Verne. Astrid saw right through her fake clip-on smile—just like she saw through Julia’s repeated claims that she was neutral in this race. Astrid knew right where Julia would be placing the ballot when election day came in two days.

“Governor Astrid!” Julia exclaimed, vigorously shaking Astrid’s hand. “Why, it’s so good to see you!”

“Same to you,” Astrid said, but she made no attempt to smile. No sense lying about things. Then again, her campaign manager would not be happy to see her like this on the most popular talk show in Araelia. Astrid managed to force a smile.

“Please, sit down,” Julia said motioning to the chair.

Astrid did so, eyes casting around to look for any opportunity possible to do something to change their footing. Astrid did not like feeling in an inferior position. And a conversation with a talk show host who secretly wanted Iraina to win did not make Astrid feel like she was in a superior position.

“So, Governor Astrid,” Julia said upon sitting down. “The elections are in two days and you are currently at a deadlock with Mr. Iraina. How confident do you feel about this election?”

“Well, I haven’t been elected time and time again for the past hundred years because I failed,” Astrid said, cracking a smile. “No, I’m very confident that my voters, who have seen my record, see that I’m the candidate in this race who they can be sure will bring our city to greatness again.”

“It’s funny you should mention your reelection streak,” Julia said, her eyes beginning to narrow. “A good many voters have begun to be expressing concern that because of your long term in office, you can’t connect with the average person anymore—that you’re too aloof from the issues of the common man.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Astrid said, trying to choke back her anger. “I have seen no such statistic or poll about the voters. Look at my record. I have had an abundance of experience—both in serving as governor in Araelia, and as part of the ruling Triumvirate before the Great Upheaval.”

“Yes, the Great Upheaval,” Julia said. “Now, Mr. Iraina has raised the point that the Triumvirate were helpless against the elves and were unprepared for them. He brings up the point that you are at least partially to blame for the disaster. Do you think that’s what the voters want to hear?”

Astrid glowered at Julia’s loaded question. “No government on Arquenia was ready to deal with Jaigran and his elves,” she rebutted. “If the greatest minds alive couldn’t see what was happening, how can that be held against me?”

“Well, for someone who holds their position in the Triumvirate as a pro rather than a con, I don’t see how that can’t be held against you, don’t you think?” Julia asked. It was all Astrid could do to keep herself from exposing Julia for how pro-Iraina she was. Of course, Julia had dozens of different possible answers to both defend herself and make her look bad. Astrid sometimes wanted to strangle her.

“No, I don’t see things that way,” Astrid said. “I have had over a century of experience in government while my opponent has had none. I can’t see all that experience as a negative for my side.”

“Don’t you think you’ve been in government long enough?”

“Excuse me?!”

“Don’t you think you’re monopolizing the governorship when there are plenty of citizens able to keep the job?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Astrid said, turning to gaze out into the video cameras, and through them to the watching audience. “There’s no rule that no one else can run.”

“But none of the people running are more qualified than you.”

“I’m the best qualified candidate, yes,” Astrid said, uneasy about where this conversation is going.

“So why don’t the voters think that way?”

“What?”

“According to recent polls, you and Iraina are at a deadlock,” Julia said. “If you’re the best qualified candidate, why have all these voters, who for the past century have supported you, suddenly turned aside to Iraina.”

“Do you have an answer for that?” Astrid said, laughing as she tried to turn it into a joke. “I mean, voters have a lot of issues they’re judging on and-”

“Well, according to the polls, the majority of people voting for Iraina are doing so because of his strong stance toward the elves,” Julia said. “Are you really better qualified to deal with them?”

“Yes; I’ve had a century’s worth of experience fighting against them.”

“You mean hiding from them.” Julia’s support for Iraina was becoming more and more obvious.

“No, I mean fighting them,” Astrid said. “We have not been idle for the past century, contrary to popular myth. There are a good many operations-”

“Name me one of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Name me one of those operations,” Julia said, leaning back. “Name me one of the operations you undertook against the elves.”

Astrid smiled. “I would, except I’m under a restraining order. Strategic intelligence, you know?”

“So on the one issue that the majority of voters care about the most, you can’t tell us why you’re better than Iraina?”

“No,” Astrid said. “You were there when I elected the Xavier Team. Is not-”

“You claim responsibility for the Xavier Team?”

“Yes,” Astrid said. “I sent out the call and-”

“But I thought you believed in the prophesy.”

Astrid’s blood froze. “Of course I do, I-”

“Because the prophesy gives the star the responsibility for calling the Xavier Team, not Governor Astrid,” Julia said. “But here you are, claiming responsibility for the star. So, I assume you don’t believe in the prophesy?”

Astrid floundered for a response.

Question of the Week:Give a backstory for Iraina. I haven't come up with much of one so I want to hear yours...

_Part LI: Mostly About Orcs

Date: Yippah 13th, 114 A.U.

“We have found people who claim to be your companions.” Reynyagn turned from talking to the orc to see the orc sentries along with Number 994 and Monty.

“Number 994! Monty!” Reynyagn cried out, running toward them. “I can’t believe they found you.”

“Aye,” Number 994 said. “Though, to be precise—we found them.”

“They came to us when we were scouting the ravine,” one of the sentries said. “It would appear that not all were taken by the northern orcish tribe alliance.”

“The northern orcish tribe alliance?” Monty asked.

“The largest alliance of the orcs apart from the Empire up here in the north,” the orc leader said, walking over to stand by Reynyagn. “We are one of the few tribes who have not united under their standard and who still seek to fight against them.”

“They captured our companions then,” Monty said, turning a heel. “They captured Astrid.”

“That is what we believe, yes,” the orc leader said. “Unless they, like you, escaped. I am Orglan Garum, ruler of the Farghorn Tribe of the Northern Orcs.”

“I am Monty, the brother of Astrid of the Xavier Team, and part of the Resistance against the Empire,” Monty said.

“I’m Number 994, previously under Unyihi Garum’s standard, of the Imperial Orcs,” Number 994 said, lying about the “previously” line.

Even so, Orglan bristled at the line. “Unyihi’s band?” he snarled. “You had better have your allegiances in line, Number 994.”

“As I do,” Number 994 lied. “I am part of the Xavier Team, am I not?”

“I suppose…” Orglan said, though he kept his glare. “Just as long as you stay there.” He turned to Reynyagn. “Well, I suppose we have more with us for our plan?”

“Aye,” Reynyagn said. “They’ll be happy to join us.”

“Happy to do what?”

“We can’t rescue our companions easily,” Reynyagn said, walking over to the desk that sat in Orglan’s main chamber. “The orcs that have them are too strong to face head on and it will be rather time consuming to seek them out.”

“So?” Monty asked, stalking over.

“So we have a better plan,” Reynyagn said, pointing to the map as Number 994 walked over. “Because it would appear that we have a striking opportunity here.” He placed his finger on the map.

“What’s that?” Monty asked. “It’s just some ancient city by the markings, so I don’t see-”

“Emperor Jaigran is at that city,” Orglan said. “Our sentries have with their own eyes seen the Emperor in that ancient city. He is guarded heavily—but less heavily than he would otherwise.”

“Wait-” Monty said, his head spinning. “Do you mean?”

“We’ve been planning an attack on Emperor Jaigran,” Orglan said. “In days we will be sending out our attack force to take them by surprise. And slay the Emperor of Arquenia.”



Number 994 shut the door slowly and then looked around in the small room that he was in. He let out a curse word as he stalked over toward the window. It would be clear that he would have to do something if he was going to save the Emperor from death. At the very least, he was the Emperor of Arquenia. He did have a heavy guard around him to keep him safe. But still… Number 994 had been impressed with the plan that Reynyagn and Orglan had drawn up for their surprise attack on the Emperor.

Number 994 didn’t like to be impressed by his enemies plans.

Rule 21: At all times, know who your enemies are.

Number 994 knew who his enemies were. He knew who his friends are. He would just have to figure out how to keep them from killing the Emperor without blowing his cover. Number 994 didn’t like having to make plans.

This had been why he had been in his division in the first place. All he had to do was take commands and do them. He had his own area of expertise in monitoring the computers and he was good at that. He would keep the Mothership running and he would do it well. It was a simple enough job. At least—it was until the Garum took him out of his proper place and, after a fantastical string of events, landed him as part of a team to destroy the elves. Ah, the irony. Number 994 hated irony.

Number 994 looked out the window and, in the distance, could make out what he believed to be the mountain upon which Tzel-Maret was located. If only it were closer so that he could get there… If only-

But it wasn’t that way. He was outside his field of expertise and he would have to do something to keep the plotters from killing the Emperor. Number 994 wanted to believe that the Emperor would be able to defend himself…

But Number 994 had a sinking feeling in his heart that the Emperor might just be caught off guard.



“I don’t trust him.”

“Number 994 is a valuable member of our party; I’m sure his familiarity with how Unyihi’s orcs work will be a major asset to us.”

“I still don’t trust him,” Orglan snapped. “He’s an Imperial orc. And everyone knows that Imperial orcs can’t be trusted.”

“He’s on our side—I’ve seen it,” Reynyagn retorted. “I’m confident that he won’t betray us. If he had wanted to do that, he would have done it a long time before. Trust me on this, Orglan. Number 994 won’t betray us.”

Orglan pursed his lips. “Fine. Have it your way, Sla’ad—but mark my words. I will trust you on Number 994’s allegiances but if you’re wrong…”

Reynyagn nodded. “I understand.”

Orglan lifted his head. “Yes, you would understand. The fate of this mission may land upon your trust of Number 994, Reynyagn. Make your choice well.”

Question of the Day:What are Reynyagn's and Rider's battle plans to take out the Emperor?