Part LXV: Flight from the Citadel
Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.
Reynyagn panted, hands on knees, as blood dripped from his sword. Throwing aside his sword, he ran to Rider, who had already collapsed and was lying on the ground, the blood flowing out of him, powerless to help.
“Rider!” Reynyagn yelled. “Rider! Can you hear me?!”
“I…” Rider said, and he coughed. Blood ran out the sides of his mouth. “I can hear you for now…” He coughed again, trying to move his mouth into a smile. “Is… is he…”
“I gave him a mortal wound,” Reynyagn said, ripping some cloth from Rider’s pants to try and quench the bleeding. “There’s no chance that he’ll survive, Rider. Jaigran will die.”
Rider pushed Reynyagn’s hand away from trying to heal his wound. “No… it’s… it’s too late…” He looked up, as if gazing beyond the ceiling. “What… what will…”
“The Great One,” Reynyagn said, seizing the moment. “You must believe in him, Rider. You must trust him.”
“The… The Great One… I believed as a youth,” Rider said. “I-I haven’t thought of him in years.”
“There’s still time,” Reynyagn pleaded. “There’s still time.”
“Time,” Rider said. “Time. I-” Rider’s mouth dropped and he leaned up on one elbow, one hand shakingly pointed upward. “It’s… It’s him.” For one long moment, Rider was frozen in his position. And then he fell back, one last breath winding its way out of him. Reynyagn slowly bent over and closed Rider’s eyes.
“This is the highest level of Red Alert!” The elf roared into the communicator. “The Emperor is being attacked! We need all forces in the Citadel now!!” He kicked dirt away toward a still-smoking body. “The enemy down here is dealt with. I want a full force storming the Citadel and exterminating any and all intruders and possible traitors. Get on it—now!” Thrusting his communicator into his belt, he stepped forward through the smoking bodies of the dead as he gazed up at the Citadel of Tzel-Maret. If the Emperor was even wounded, they’d all have hell to pay.
Reynyagn leapt through the flames, shielding Rider’s body in his arms as he ran forward before skidding to a stop, his gaze meeting that of Jroldin’s and Monty’s.
"What-” Jroldin began.
“They’re dead. Both of them,” Reynyagn said. “We have to get out of here. The elves will be swarming the place if they aren’t already doing so. Jroldin—where are our fellow companions?”
“I don’t know!” Jroldin said. “We lost them in the chase through the Citadel. I-”
There was a move behind them, and Reynyagn spun around, dropping Rider’s body and drawing his sword before seeing that it was only Number 994, having just jumped through the flames.
“You caught up,” Reynyagn said, picking up Rider’s body again. “Is Orglan behind you?”
Number 994 shook his head. “He died in battle with the other orcs.”
“Too many have died,” Reynyagn said, adjusting his grip. “We have to get out of here.”
“But the other members-” Jroldin began.
“We have to find them as we leave,” Reynyagn said. “Now come on! We need to move!”
Flek brought down his hand, helping to hoist Astrid up through the hole he had made before taking off running, dragging her along with him.
“We—we have to slow down-“ Astrid said.
“Not if you want to live we don’t,” Flek said, racing ahead. “They’ll be on top of us any minute now!” Racing out of the room they were in, Flek ran down the hall. “Can you run any faster?!” he yelled, holding Astrid’s hand in one hand while he brandished a sword with the other.”
“I’m stumbling along as is!” Astrid yelled. “Absolutely not!”
You have to help me. Give me strength. Flek slowed down and then, quickly sheathing his sword, moved both hands backwards to wrap them around Astrid as he hoisted her onto his back before she could protest, hoping and praying for enough strength to do everything that he needed to do.
Strength belongeth unto the strong, Flek. Run. Energy flowed through his bones as Flek began to break into a run, redrawing his swords as he listened to where the battle seemed to be coming from. Rushing feet could be heard underneath, and the still calm of the aftermath of a battle ahead of them. Flek could smell it in the air.
They came into a library covered with books fallen on the floor and blood. Bodies littered the scene. The only living people were two female elves, who turned around to stare at them. They looked identical, except for a touch in the eyes of the one. A touch that Flek knew as something close to madness. The touch that made them just not right.
“Get back!” Flek drew his swords and stood up, brushing Astrid off his back as the one elf cowered in the corner, trying to restrain her twin, who drew her gun. The twin with the gun, the one with the touch of madness in the eyes, glared at Flek.
With one deft motion, Flek chopped the gun in two and then pointed his sword at them. “Has the Emperor been here?!”
“Yes!” the elf who looked some-what normal shrieked as she attempted to restrain her twin. “He went that way—followed by an elf and a brown-cloaked man.” She pointed toward a side door.
“Tomas and either Zarien or Rider,” Flek said. “Good. Now just mind your own business.” He grabbed Astrid’s hand and turned to go.”
Suddenly, a winged elf rushed into the room, brandishing his spear. “Touch not elves.” He gritted his teeth as he pointed his gun menacingly at Flek. “One step to them, you die.”
“Hazael!” The saner of the two elves spoke. “They-they were just about to be going.”
Flek brandished his swords as he nudged Astrid. “Get to that door,” he whispered, before turning to the new elf. “We have no business with you,” he said. “I do not wish to fight you if possible. If we must, then I will slay you.”
“No fight we do,” Hazael said. “We at peace.”
“Good,” Flek said, not understanding why the elf just declared peace with him. But he wasn’t going to question it. And Flek followed Astrid out the door.
“Brother Tomas!” Zarien ran up to catch up to the brown cloaked figure who was trying to fight off two elves while hiding around a corner. Moving around the corner, Zarien slid down to the ground as he made two shots, hitting both of the elves. Zarien picked himself up and turned to Brother Tomas.
“You are here,” Brother Tomas said. “Good. We must hurry.”
“Yeah, I know,” Zarien said. “But where to?”
“Wherever the Emperor may be. I’ve been searching the passages but to no avail. I thought I had heard commotion up here, but-“ Brother Tomas gestured to the burning flames that were consuming a nearby passageway. “The battle seems to be beyond the flames. At least it was. Now-”
“What’s that sound of feet?” Zarien pointed down the corridor. “People moving—and fast.”
“Could be guards,” Brother Tomas said, crouching and getting ready for the attack.”
“Let’s move,” Zarien said, running forward as he moved by the wall. “It could be whoever was fighting. Maybe-”
Suddenly, the figures burst around the curve, turning their backs to continue away from Zarien and Brother Tomas. But then Zarien recognized the black form of the living shadow. But no… it couldn’t be…
“Reynyagn?!”
The black figure turned, carrying the body of an elf. “Zarien!” The Sla’ad moved toward him, along with the rest of the group. “It is indeed I, Reynyagn.”
“But-“ Zarien said. “You were dead. I-”
“Not dead yet,” Reynyagn said grimly. “Though I’m afraid Rider is.”
“Rider-”
“And the Emperor,” Reynyagn said. “The elves are storming the place from the looks of it. We have to get out of it.”
“Rider’s dead?! You killed Jaigran?! The elves are storming the place?! What-”
“No time to explain,” Reynyagn said. “If we get to the upper levels of the Citadel, we should be able to get back up the way I got down here—if we do it fast.”
“Hey… not to interrupt anything…” The group turned to see a familiar looking goblin standing behind them along with a woman gasping for breath. “But I think we may have met before. The name’s Flek. I assume you all are my comrades, some of whom were supposed to be dead?”
Commander Eryan swore as he quickly flew the airship over toward the Citadel. This day of all days—the day when he was to be out on long patrol with his men, was to be the day that the Emperor was attacked. He quickly eyed a balcony on the top part of the Citadel—the perfect place to land his men.
He held up the intercom. “Prepare the cables for action. I’ll be flying to hover right next to the Citadel to drop you off on a balcony. Be ready to fight off the attackers.”
Flek swung his swords around as he battled off the horde of elves and orcs that had fallen upon them as they had come up the stairs. Gritting his teeth, he threw himself into the action, letting him lose himself in the fight to emerge with the group dead, some of the other members watching him as if in shock that he could have beaten off all the attackers, though he had had some help from Zarien and the other members.
“Come on,” Flek said, trying to catch his breath. “We need to move do we not?”
“Yes,” Reynyagn said, running forward as he struggled to keep holding Rider’s body. “The balcony should be just up ahead. There’ll be ropes leading up.”
“And if they’re not there anymore?!” Flek asked.
“Then we’ll make do with what we got.” Reynyagn’s voice was cold. “Killing the Emperor is an impressive feat. We’ll be lucky to escape with our lives.”
Commander Eryan drew the airship up, moving it to be as close as it could be to be right over the balcony. Seven feet up from the balcony was as close as he would be getting it. He watched as grappling hooks went down, tying around the balcony and the elves began to slide down. That was before things began to happen unexpectedly.
A goblin leapt out on the balcony, and then some elves and an orc. Then a Sla’ad. Commander Eryan knew something was wrong, and reached for the intercom. The goblin leapt, killing the elves that had landed as he shimmied up the ropes. Commander Eryan barked out a warning to the fellow airships and then turned, picking up his gun as he made sure the machine was in a stable hover and ran to the door. He had just made it there when the door flung open. Burning blue corsha met him there.
Question of the DayWhat will the Xavier Team do now?
Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.
Reynyagn panted, hands on knees, as blood dripped from his sword. Throwing aside his sword, he ran to Rider, who had already collapsed and was lying on the ground, the blood flowing out of him, powerless to help.
“Rider!” Reynyagn yelled. “Rider! Can you hear me?!”
“I…” Rider said, and he coughed. Blood ran out the sides of his mouth. “I can hear you for now…” He coughed again, trying to move his mouth into a smile. “Is… is he…”
“I gave him a mortal wound,” Reynyagn said, ripping some cloth from Rider’s pants to try and quench the bleeding. “There’s no chance that he’ll survive, Rider. Jaigran will die.”
Rider pushed Reynyagn’s hand away from trying to heal his wound. “No… it’s… it’s too late…” He looked up, as if gazing beyond the ceiling. “What… what will…”
“The Great One,” Reynyagn said, seizing the moment. “You must believe in him, Rider. You must trust him.”
“The… The Great One… I believed as a youth,” Rider said. “I-I haven’t thought of him in years.”
“There’s still time,” Reynyagn pleaded. “There’s still time.”
“Time,” Rider said. “Time. I-” Rider’s mouth dropped and he leaned up on one elbow, one hand shakingly pointed upward. “It’s… It’s him.” For one long moment, Rider was frozen in his position. And then he fell back, one last breath winding its way out of him. Reynyagn slowly bent over and closed Rider’s eyes.
“This is the highest level of Red Alert!” The elf roared into the communicator. “The Emperor is being attacked! We need all forces in the Citadel now!!” He kicked dirt away toward a still-smoking body. “The enemy down here is dealt with. I want a full force storming the Citadel and exterminating any and all intruders and possible traitors. Get on it—now!” Thrusting his communicator into his belt, he stepped forward through the smoking bodies of the dead as he gazed up at the Citadel of Tzel-Maret. If the Emperor was even wounded, they’d all have hell to pay.
Reynyagn leapt through the flames, shielding Rider’s body in his arms as he ran forward before skidding to a stop, his gaze meeting that of Jroldin’s and Monty’s.
"What-” Jroldin began.
“They’re dead. Both of them,” Reynyagn said. “We have to get out of here. The elves will be swarming the place if they aren’t already doing so. Jroldin—where are our fellow companions?”
“I don’t know!” Jroldin said. “We lost them in the chase through the Citadel. I-”
There was a move behind them, and Reynyagn spun around, dropping Rider’s body and drawing his sword before seeing that it was only Number 994, having just jumped through the flames.
“You caught up,” Reynyagn said, picking up Rider’s body again. “Is Orglan behind you?”
Number 994 shook his head. “He died in battle with the other orcs.”
“Too many have died,” Reynyagn said, adjusting his grip. “We have to get out of here.”
“But the other members-” Jroldin began.
“We have to find them as we leave,” Reynyagn said. “Now come on! We need to move!”
Flek brought down his hand, helping to hoist Astrid up through the hole he had made before taking off running, dragging her along with him.
“We—we have to slow down-“ Astrid said.
“Not if you want to live we don’t,” Flek said, racing ahead. “They’ll be on top of us any minute now!” Racing out of the room they were in, Flek ran down the hall. “Can you run any faster?!” he yelled, holding Astrid’s hand in one hand while he brandished a sword with the other.”
“I’m stumbling along as is!” Astrid yelled. “Absolutely not!”
You have to help me. Give me strength. Flek slowed down and then, quickly sheathing his sword, moved both hands backwards to wrap them around Astrid as he hoisted her onto his back before she could protest, hoping and praying for enough strength to do everything that he needed to do.
Strength belongeth unto the strong, Flek. Run. Energy flowed through his bones as Flek began to break into a run, redrawing his swords as he listened to where the battle seemed to be coming from. Rushing feet could be heard underneath, and the still calm of the aftermath of a battle ahead of them. Flek could smell it in the air.
They came into a library covered with books fallen on the floor and blood. Bodies littered the scene. The only living people were two female elves, who turned around to stare at them. They looked identical, except for a touch in the eyes of the one. A touch that Flek knew as something close to madness. The touch that made them just not right.
“Get back!” Flek drew his swords and stood up, brushing Astrid off his back as the one elf cowered in the corner, trying to restrain her twin, who drew her gun. The twin with the gun, the one with the touch of madness in the eyes, glared at Flek.
With one deft motion, Flek chopped the gun in two and then pointed his sword at them. “Has the Emperor been here?!”
“Yes!” the elf who looked some-what normal shrieked as she attempted to restrain her twin. “He went that way—followed by an elf and a brown-cloaked man.” She pointed toward a side door.
“Tomas and either Zarien or Rider,” Flek said. “Good. Now just mind your own business.” He grabbed Astrid’s hand and turned to go.”
Suddenly, a winged elf rushed into the room, brandishing his spear. “Touch not elves.” He gritted his teeth as he pointed his gun menacingly at Flek. “One step to them, you die.”
“Hazael!” The saner of the two elves spoke. “They-they were just about to be going.”
Flek brandished his swords as he nudged Astrid. “Get to that door,” he whispered, before turning to the new elf. “We have no business with you,” he said. “I do not wish to fight you if possible. If we must, then I will slay you.”
“No fight we do,” Hazael said. “We at peace.”
“Good,” Flek said, not understanding why the elf just declared peace with him. But he wasn’t going to question it. And Flek followed Astrid out the door.
“Brother Tomas!” Zarien ran up to catch up to the brown cloaked figure who was trying to fight off two elves while hiding around a corner. Moving around the corner, Zarien slid down to the ground as he made two shots, hitting both of the elves. Zarien picked himself up and turned to Brother Tomas.
“You are here,” Brother Tomas said. “Good. We must hurry.”
“Yeah, I know,” Zarien said. “But where to?”
“Wherever the Emperor may be. I’ve been searching the passages but to no avail. I thought I had heard commotion up here, but-“ Brother Tomas gestured to the burning flames that were consuming a nearby passageway. “The battle seems to be beyond the flames. At least it was. Now-”
“What’s that sound of feet?” Zarien pointed down the corridor. “People moving—and fast.”
“Could be guards,” Brother Tomas said, crouching and getting ready for the attack.”
“Let’s move,” Zarien said, running forward as he moved by the wall. “It could be whoever was fighting. Maybe-”
Suddenly, the figures burst around the curve, turning their backs to continue away from Zarien and Brother Tomas. But then Zarien recognized the black form of the living shadow. But no… it couldn’t be…
“Reynyagn?!”
The black figure turned, carrying the body of an elf. “Zarien!” The Sla’ad moved toward him, along with the rest of the group. “It is indeed I, Reynyagn.”
“But-“ Zarien said. “You were dead. I-”
“Not dead yet,” Reynyagn said grimly. “Though I’m afraid Rider is.”
“Rider-”
“And the Emperor,” Reynyagn said. “The elves are storming the place from the looks of it. We have to get out of it.”
“Rider’s dead?! You killed Jaigran?! The elves are storming the place?! What-”
“No time to explain,” Reynyagn said. “If we get to the upper levels of the Citadel, we should be able to get back up the way I got down here—if we do it fast.”
“Hey… not to interrupt anything…” The group turned to see a familiar looking goblin standing behind them along with a woman gasping for breath. “But I think we may have met before. The name’s Flek. I assume you all are my comrades, some of whom were supposed to be dead?”
Commander Eryan swore as he quickly flew the airship over toward the Citadel. This day of all days—the day when he was to be out on long patrol with his men, was to be the day that the Emperor was attacked. He quickly eyed a balcony on the top part of the Citadel—the perfect place to land his men.
He held up the intercom. “Prepare the cables for action. I’ll be flying to hover right next to the Citadel to drop you off on a balcony. Be ready to fight off the attackers.”
Flek swung his swords around as he battled off the horde of elves and orcs that had fallen upon them as they had come up the stairs. Gritting his teeth, he threw himself into the action, letting him lose himself in the fight to emerge with the group dead, some of the other members watching him as if in shock that he could have beaten off all the attackers, though he had had some help from Zarien and the other members.
“Come on,” Flek said, trying to catch his breath. “We need to move do we not?”
“Yes,” Reynyagn said, running forward as he struggled to keep holding Rider’s body. “The balcony should be just up ahead. There’ll be ropes leading up.”
“And if they’re not there anymore?!” Flek asked.
“Then we’ll make do with what we got.” Reynyagn’s voice was cold. “Killing the Emperor is an impressive feat. We’ll be lucky to escape with our lives.”
Commander Eryan drew the airship up, moving it to be as close as it could be to be right over the balcony. Seven feet up from the balcony was as close as he would be getting it. He watched as grappling hooks went down, tying around the balcony and the elves began to slide down. That was before things began to happen unexpectedly.
A goblin leapt out on the balcony, and then some elves and an orc. Then a Sla’ad. Commander Eryan knew something was wrong, and reached for the intercom. The goblin leapt, killing the elves that had landed as he shimmied up the ropes. Commander Eryan barked out a warning to the fellow airships and then turned, picking up his gun as he made sure the machine was in a stable hover and ran to the door. He had just made it there when the door flung open. Burning blue corsha met him there.
Question of the DayWhat will the Xavier Team do now?
RSS Feed