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.
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.
RSS Feed