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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.
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.
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