Note the picture.  Credit goes to Seth Rosamilia.

Part LXX: At the End of the World

Date: Yippah 21st, 114 A.U.

The aircraft, now nearly out of fuel, slowly hovered down before touching the ground, steam coming out as it came to rest on the rocky earth. It was silent, and then a door opened up, a ramp folding out onto the ground from the ship. Eight figures walked down it, two figures carrying a body between them. Behind them, the ramp folded back up and closed in on itself as they looked around their surroundings.

They were on a large plateau that overlooked the rest of the volcarren wasteland. In front of them, the plateau ended and the earth dropped to form the depression in the volcano. Although long dormant, none of the Xavier Team especially felt like going near to examine the volcano.

“So. This is it,” Astrid said as she turned. “This is where the star pointed.”

“This is where the star would be on earth, yes,” Reynyagn said. He gestured to the star that brightly shone overhead, illuminating the dim of the twilight. “This is it.”

Astrid slowly shook her head. “So we came here for nothing.”

“That might not necessarily be true…” Brother Tomas said as he ran his hand along one of the rocks that jutted forth out of the plateau.

“There’s nothing here,” Zarien said coldly. “We’re here in the middle of a volcarren wasteland. We travelled for days and have nothing to show for our efforts. We came to the North looking, hoping to find a purpose. We have found nothing. Only the dead bodies of our friends. Kaln, Rider—both dead thanks to our journey here.” She bit her lip. “We have nothing to gain. The ship is nearly out of fuel, which means we’re going to have to walk all the way back through the mountains. It’s over.”

“We must not lose hope,” Reynyagn said, picking up a long stick from the ground to use as a staff. “We must hold onto the promise of the prophesy.”

“And look where it’s brought us!” Number 994 said, looking around him. “Here! The prophesy took us here!”

“Far North the party now must go if it wants to succeed…” Jroldin murmured.

“What?” Astrid turned toward him.

“Far North the party now must go if it wants to succeed,” Jroldin said, speaking in a louder voice, as he spoke the words that he had once been forced to memorize. “The trials that will try the group will bring it to the brink; Despair must run o’er them before the culmination comes. Till purified with fire it will stand against fire.” Jroldin shook his head as he gazed around them. “Don’t you see? The prophesy knew of this! It knew that we would suffer here—we would be purified in our journey—but we would be purified with fire—we would be purified only after we’d be brought to the brink of despair. Don’t you see?” There was silence before anyone spoke.

“Yeah, I see,” Number 994 said. “I see that the prophesy promised our own failure and destruction. Really makes me trust that we’re win this whole thing. It’s over.” Ripping off his gauntlets, Number 994 stalked over to the stone where they had lain Rider’s body, leaning against it as he stared down at the ground.

“We must leave them,” Brother Tomas said in a low voice, moving over toward Monty. “It is time for the Xavier Team to make their own choice.” Slowly nodding, Monty walked with Brother Tomas back to the airship, going back up into the inside.

“I… I want to believe…” Flek said, sitting down upon a rock as he adjusted his cloak. “The star promised us so much! It-”

It failed you, Flek. You were promised much and the star failed to deliver on its promise. Look around you. Do you see the star working to bring your victory? Or do you see it working to bring you to despair…

It… Flek tried to protest. It promised that-

It promised failure. You’re following a prophesy that promises failure. Flek stared down at the rock.

“We have nowhere to go, now…” Astrid said, sitting down and leaning on the rock next to Number 994. “Just to be out here in the middle of nowhere with a ship about to lose any fuel to return us. At the very least, I suppose that when we die, we’ll at least be able to say that we almost killed the Emperor. We almost won freedom for ourselves before we lost.”

"We almost freed the nations of Arquenia…” Zarien whispered as he sat down on the opposite side of the rock to Astrid. “We almost delivered in on our promise…”

“We haven’t lost yet,” Jroldin said, gritting his teeth, as he laid his axe against the rock and sat down on the other side of Number 994. “We still have hope… right?”

“We still have hope, Priest-King,” Reynyagn said, as he pointed to the star, leaning on his new staff. “Look to the star! It has not yet failed us! We must continue to trust in the prophesy!”

“A prophesy of despair,” Jroldin murmured. “If only I could feel better about my belief of the prophesy… a prophesy I want dearly to believe… a prophesy I believe by my intuition… but a prophesy which my heart rejects.”

“We must look to the star!” Reynyagn repeated. “It is the star of promise! It is a star that has guided us this far along! It is a star that will continue to guide us.”

“But then why are we here?” Flek asked as he stared at the rock under him. “Why are we here of our places, if not to bow down to despair.”

“Maybe it is because the Xavier Team was never complete,” a new voice said, coming from the crater of the volcano. “Maybe it’s because the seven were never full.”

And everyone turned to look.

Forgive me for my laxity in posting... I will try to post most of the remaining days this week to finish it up...

Part LXIX: Rise of the Elder Dragon

Date: Yippah 24th, 114 A.U.
`
Major Erklen threw himself under the barricade as flames shot forward in front of him, the flames intermixed with a green acid that dissolved a goblin behind him as flames shot through its body. Rolling over, Major Erklen thought fast. The elves had a dragon—a dragon of all things. And Major Erklen instantly knew that any chance they had was done. The elves had run them over. There was nothing to do but to retreat. Major Erklen reached for his horn. And then a voice came through on his walkie-talkie.

“Sir? Major Erklen, sir?”


“What? Is that you Flindle?”

“Yes, sir, Flindle it is, sir!” Flindle said wildly trying to control the Elder Dragon’s movements to keep it from destroying their forces and keep it focused on taking out the elves.

“What do you want?!” Major Erklen yelled. “In case your air fleet haven’t noticed, we have a freakin’ dragon assaulting our forces. We can’t compete with both the elves and their dragon! I’m about to call a retreat.”

“Yes sir, know of the dragon I do, Major Erklen, sir,” Flindle said. “I am on the dragon—on the dragon I am, sir! Found it have I and control it—control it I have, sir! I am still trying to maneuver it, but we will attack the elves—attack the elves I will try, sir! Don’t call a retreat yet! Win the battle yet I might!”


Major Erklen put the walkie-talkie down as he looked up to gaze with astonishment at the dragon wildly flying around as it spewed its rain of acid and flame—increasingly growing to be more acid and less flame—over the forest as it began to dawn on him. Flindle was controlling a dragon. The universe had seen strange things. But none quite as strange as this one. Even his dreams weren’t as paradoxical as this. Major Erklen pinched himself and felt pain. No, not even his dreams were as wild as having Flindle tame a dragon.


“Ahhhhh!” Flindle gave a cry as the dragon dove. He pulled up on the dragon’s ears, forcing the dragon to move up toward one of the elven airships. The dragon gave a roar and spat out acid, now only mingled with a small amount of fire, as it flew toward the ship. The acid burned through the elven attack ship as the dragon rose up to smash into the bottom of the ship. Its tail swung around to wrap around it as its claws scratched it, as if trying to pry open a nut to get at the sweet fruit inside.

Guns began blazing from elves shooting with their guns out of the airship but the bullets just ricocheted off of its scales. The dragon roared and moved up, spitting acid through the windows as elves inside clutched their faces. The acid burned the metal as the dragon’s tail smashed into the front of the ship, disabling the elven airship which finally collapsed, breaking in two as the dragon flew up, spitting acid and flying down to munch the screaming elves in its mouth before moving back up, Flindle scrambling to control it again, as it came face-to-face with the elves bearing in on it.

Three helicopters, guns at the sides, formed a triad as they bore in on the dragon, as if hoping to keep it from taking out the rest of their air force. Guns began blazing, enraging the Elder Dragon, and Flindle gave a sigh of relief as he went lax on the Elder Dragon’s ears, knowing that the Elder Dragon’s primal instincts would lead him to do just what Flindle wanted to do.

The Elder Dragon dove, and then came up, smashing into one of the helicopters and tilting it upwards in the air as its tail came around, smashing the rotary blades and wrapping his body around the helicopter, breaking it in on itself as Flindle struggled to hold on, nervously watching the bullets blazing around him.

Finishing off the helicopter, the Elder Dragon instantly moved to the next one, spitting out acid that burned through the central part of the helicopter’s blades. As if it already understood how the helicopters work, the Elder Dragon flew around to engage the last one, as the other helicopter fell behind them. The Elder Dragon made short work of the last helicopter.


Major Erklen watched in amazement as the Elder Dragon finished taking out the helicopters before turning and swooping down toward the goblin defenses, now nearly swarmed by elves as they were doing everything they could in keeping the elves from gaining over half of the plateau.

“Get down!” Flindle’s voice came crackling through the walkie-talkie. “I’m going to scourge the plateau of the elves.”

“MOVE!” Major Erklen yelled, blowing his horn. “Retreat!!” The goblins scattered as Erklen saw the Elder Dragon banking around a curve to come straight-on at the other side of the plateau. Major Erklen ran towards their pre-determined escape route.

Acid sprayed behind him, the elves screaming and running as the dragon flew low across the Plateau, snapping at the elves and decimating their ranks before rising up and turning around before going back for another bout, taking out any of the remaining elves before going back up into the air to engage the other elven attack ships. Major Erklen watched the Elder Dragon attack the head air ship and then reached in his pocket. It was high time that Lord Freglak was alerted of the news of the sudden development.


“It’s over.” The priest slapped a copy of the most recent newspaper before High Priest Jaine.

“I know, you blasted fool.” Jaine stood up, slamming his dagger down upon the headline of the front page, highlighting the sudden defeat of the elves. “All of our protests against the Elder Dragon look ridiculous now.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.” Jaine gritted his teeth as he glared at his subordinate priest. “Don’t you see?! We’ve lost. Freglak blasted us in his speech to the people about his victory over the elves. We played in this game of diplomacy and we’ve lost. There’s no sense calling it anything else. Our stock is defeated. Lord Freglak has won.”

“We’re going to obey him, then.”

“Oh no.” Jaine shook his head as he opened his mouth. “We have been defeated. But we have not been destroyed. Freglak may have won. But he will still be brought to fear the edge of a dagger. He may have won. But he will certainly learn to feel our bite.”

I HOPE that you haven't forgotten about certain plot lines... like the devices implanted in the heads of several of the Xavier Team to make them serve Farshore... that would really be rather unfortunate...

Part LXVIII: Leaving the Past

Date: Yippah 17th, 114 A.U.

The aircraft flew overhead as they huddled in the cave, waiting for the entourage of planes to fly by, terrified of being found out. After the aircraft had been gone for several minutes, cautiously, Hazael stepped out, looking and making sure that the elven aircraft were gone, flying off in the distance, before gesturing to his comrades.

Sereth stepped out, supporting Cortna, as she looked across the skies. “They’re gone.”

“It appear so,” Hazael solemnly said. “All elves gone. See; the Citadel burns.”

Sereth’s head whipped around to see the smoke and the faint light of flames licking from the Citadel, now a couple miles behind them. “Aye,” she said. “It ‘twould appear that they are burning the remnants of what they ‘ave left behind.”

“We’re on own, without them,” Hazael said. “Alone.”

A shudder of realization went through Sereth. “Aye,” she said. “We’re alone here, in the Northern Mountains, with only ourselves and our speeder.” Cortna groaned, and moved, as she begun to awake. She looked around, a nervous look in her eyes, as tremors began to pass through her.

“There was a battle,” Sereth quickly lied. “We were knocked out and the Emperor left without us.” Cortna shakily nodded, moving her mouth, but without any sound coming out. So weak. So different. Sereth bit her lip to keep back the tears.


The elven aircraft slowly flew through the air, passing by mountains and valleys, as those inside wondered about what would be their future.

“We failed,” Astrid said, dejectedly. “We did all of that do stop him, and he still survived.” Flek bit his lip as he tried to figure out how the Emperor still lived. They had just intercepted a message from the Emperor to the Mothership proclaiming that he was still alive.

“I-I don’t know how he could be,” Reynyagn snapped, a tinge in his voice. “I had given him what was most definitely a mortal wound—and I know what is and what is not a mortal wound. How could he have survived?!”

“Obviously something happened,” Zarien said. “I don’t know what, but the unmistakable fact still remains—the Emperor still lives. And Rider lies here dead.”

“We can do no more than to give him a proper burial,” Brother Tomas said. “Give him a proper burial place to rest his head one last time.”

“Where?” Reynyagn asked. “Here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I know techniques to preserve his body for a short while,” Brother Tomas said. “We can still have many days before we need to find a proper burial place for him, hopefully a place that isn’t in the middle of a wasteland.”

“Where are we going, then?” Flek asked. “Our plans have been ruined with the continued life of the Emperor. Where now shall we go?”

“Forward as we had before planned,” Reynyagn said. “We had planned already to go to the traditional point on this earth that our star lies. Without any better plans, I propose that we continue there. There is no other reason to stay here.”

“Yeah,” Monty said. “I don’t feel like going back and helping the orcs in their tribal war, and I doubt the orcs would want us for much else.”

“The orcs?!” Astrid suddenly gave a shriek as she leapt up from her seat, her face growing a deathly pale.

“What about the orcs?” Reynyagn asked.

“The implantations!” Astrid cried. “We’ve left them—they’re going to kill us?!”


The snow flew past them as they clung to one another atop the speeder, bits of snow flying in their faces as Sereth tried to shield herself from its blast. Mountains loomed ahead of them, and behind them. She held on to Cortna tightly, who was sandwiched between her and Hazael. In front, Hazael kept his gaze strictly in front of him. Hazael. It was only through his quick and effective plan that had got them to escape the camp while it was still in confusion and leave the cursed Emperor and his flock for good. To leave to find a place to recove—a place outside of his venomous glares—a place where they might be able to bring Cortna back to life.


“I cannot find any notice of them,” the orc growled. “All the other captured elven guards support the elf’s story of them getting into an airship and flying off. They all testify that there was a chase after them, but that they ended up getting away.”

“They escaped!” Farshore snapped, and he swore. “Such excellent warriors… all flown the coop… and the Emperor still alive.” He dug his heel into the ground as he seethed. “So, they think that they can escape us. They think that they can break the deal that they made with me.”

“It would appear, from some sources, that they may have gone with Orglan’s group,” the orc said. “As you know, Orglan attacked the Citadel with us. Apparently, some of their friends that we had left for dead on the mountainside were still alive, and joined Orglan. The elven sources cite them as having joined the rest of the Xavier Team as well as one of the orcs, when they bordered the ship.”

“Orglan!” Farshore said, and he again swore. “He took the rest of the team to fight against me!”

“Orglan’s body has been found dead in the Citadel,” the orc informed Farshore.

“At least one good thing happened apart from losing so many of our men!” Farshore snapped. “But he’ll still have a replacement leader. One who has captured the rest of the so-called Xavier Team.” Farshore gritted his teeth. “Go press the button—you know the one that I mean. Let them escape and think they’ve won the day. They’ll learn too late who controls the power of the minds.”


“I had not anticipated this development,” Reynyagn said as he paced the chamber quickly. “I knew that they had captured you—but not how they had done so. This news is disturbing. We’ll have to return you—as soon as possible—to the orcs if we’re going to preserve your life.”

“But if we return to the orcs-” Jroldin began.

“We’ll figure out how to get terms of freedom when we get to that point,” Reynyagn said. “But you’re no good to us dead.”

They will not die.

What? Flek’s head quickly moved as he listened to the voice.

The implants in their head have a limit of fifty miles. You are beyond that point.

“They won’t die,” Flek quickly said. “We won’t die, I mean.”

“How so?” Reynyagn turned to fix his eyes on Flek.

“The implants in our head have a limit—fifty miles or so, I think—if my memory is correct," he said. “I’m almost positive we’re fifty miles away from them now. Their machinery can’t reach this far.”

“How do you know this?” Reynaygn asked.

You spied on them.

“I managed to overhear their conversation,” Flek lied. “They were speaking of the limit and of trying to make sure that we’d stay close to their radius.”

“I had better make sure we’re fifty miles away…” Reynyagn said, moving to the computer.

“You’re a life saver, Flek,” Brother Tomas said. “If you hadn’t over heard your conversation…”

“Sixty miles away from the Citadel—that ought to be more than sixty miles away from their headquarters,” Reynyagn said. “They have no power over you anymore.”


The speeder slowly ground to a halt and Sereth cautiously stepped off, looking around at the wilderness before them. The mountains rose high, but a pass could be seen, a pass through the mountains that would eventually lead them to freedom. Hazael stepped beside her as Cortna moved to stand by Sereth, gazing at the setting sun.

“We have a new birth of freedom,” Sereth said. “Freedom apart from the clutches of the Emperor.”

“New live have we,” Hazael said. “We must use it wisely.”

You can probably tell that I like politics with parts such as these... I'm trying to get an internship with a political campaign this summer; we'll see how it works out. Anyways, winners.

Part LXVII: A New Era

Date: Yippah 19th, 114 A.U.

“It’s going to be down to the wire here,” Astrid’s campaign manager said as he flipped through the touch screen interface of the television to come to the news casters talking about the map of Araelia and its twelve districts, numbers flashing as polls were being tallied to determine the winner of the race for governor.

“Exit polls put you slightly ahead, 52 to 47, in Districts 3, 4, and 5,” the campaign manager said as he hovered the pointer over the screen. Districts 3-5 were the key districts that the election was going to hinge on. Districts 8-11, as well as District 2, were solidly behind Astrid, while Districts 1, 6-7, and 12 were solidly for Iraina. The election thus hinged on those three districts, the winner being whoever took the majority of the districts, or, in case of a tie, whoever won the popular vote. And although she had more secure districts, none would be won in the landslide that Iraina’s were going to be won by—meaning that unless she managed to come out with seven of the twelve districts, Iraina would win.

All of the polls agreed on the fact that Iraina would win the popular vote. It was going to be all that Astrid could do to scrape out a win from Iraina’s teeth. The soft murmurings coming through the door to her left reminded Astrid of the crowd that would be gathering in the large meeting room that she had set up to give her speech, whether for victory, or for concession.

“60% of the results for District 2 are in,” the campaign manager said as more campaign aides came in, watching the screen intently. “It has you beating Iraina by about thirty percentage points.”

“We already knew that I’d win District 2 by a landslide,” Governor Astrid snapped, uneased by how close this race was going to turn out. “Iraina never even tried to compete there. There are results being called for other districts, are there not?”

“All the districts except for districts 3-5, as well as District 11, are being called for the expected winner,” the campaign manager said. “District 11 for some reason hasn’t been called yet by the talk show host.”

“It will back me,” Governor Astrid said brusquely. “It always has.”

“All of the districts have traditionally backed you…” the campaign manager murmured.

“IT will back me,” Governor Astrid said, and she stood up, pacing around the room. “But as for the others… what did I do wrong? Iraina has had a fragment of political experience compared to me; he’s been a businessman all of his life! I saved the city from extinction by the elves!”

“Human’s minds tend to overlook the deeds of the past,” her campaign manager stated. “Yes, your work in saving this city have won you many, many elections in the past, but it would appear that over time, their memory of how much you did has weakened.”

“But I brought it back into play!” Astrid exclaimed. “I pulled all the strings that I could to remind me of my work, from reminding them in the Remembrance Ceremony, to calling for a Xavier Team to try and show them what I’ll do, and by all means, my call was actually the real one!”

“Aye,” the campaign manager agreed. “If it never transpired that we actually got men, the rumors of it being political spiel would have become a centerpiece of the campaign.”

“Just as well as they got no wind of it,” Astrid said, pacing. “But I did it! I brought together a Xavier Team, which should have secured the election for me.”

“Your interview this week was disastrous,” the campaign manager reminded her. “And Iraina put a lot of money into attacking this strength of yours. Besides the which he galvanized and excited the youth of the city to strongly back him.”

“The screen!” One of the campaign aides exclaimed. Astrid turned to see the breaking news flashing across the screen: Districts 5 and 11 had been called for Astrid.

Astrid breathed a sigh of relief. “There’s six districts,” she said. “District 11 fell right in as expected. How is the popular vote running?”

“A deadlock,” her campaign manager answered, looking intently at some numbers on the screen. 53% backing you, 47% backing Iraina. Of course, many from Iraina’s districts aren’t completely in.”

“We already knew he’d probably win the popular vote,” Astrid stated. “We just need one more district to win and then it’s over. I’ll secure the governorship, and begin a new era in implementing all of the plans that we have begun to execute to deal with the elves and support the Xavier Team.”


Iraina returned into the room, taking off his shades, as he came back from speaking to some of his supporters. “Anything new called?”

“You were here when District 5 went for Astrid an hour ago,” his manager said. “District 3 has been called for you, and District 4 is close for being called.”

“And District 11?”

“It went for Astrid when District 3 was called,” his manager said. “Remember?”

“Give it time.” Iraina sat down in his chair and picked up his glass of lemonade. “District 11 will support me by the time all the votes are counted.”

“It’s one of Astrid’s strongholds!” his manager said, confused. “Why-”

“I’ve done some work with the district,” Iraina stated bluntly. “It will fall for me.”

“You did work outside our plans?” his manager said. “Iraina—I plan your whole schedule—You couldn’t have-”

“Shut up and watch the results,” Iraina snapped. “Watch and learn. Watch and see how I win this election.”


“District 4 has been called for Iraina.” The campaign manager watched Astrid’s face as she pursed her lips, obviously disappointed.

“What of the popular vote?”

“95% has been tallied,” the campaign manager said. “52% for you, 48% for Iraina.”

“So I may yet win the popular vote,” Astrid said, taking a deep breath. “Which districts still need to report?”

“A couple hundred more votes from District 4, but the majority are still from District 11,” her campaign manager said. “They’re expected to come in in a couple of minutes.”

“So District 11 ought to be mostly for me,” Astrid said, taking a deep breath. “So I ought to win the popular vote. What’s the vote currently in District 11?”

“55% for you, 45% for Iraina; 90% reporting,” her manager replied. “It should continue that trend, more or less.”

“So I’ve won it,” Astrid said, a calm suddenly breaking over her.

“In every likelihood, yes,” her campaign manager replied. “I’ve been crunching numbers, and you’ve won it, Astrid. Iraina’s been defeated. He has basically no hope of winning.”

“Good,” Astrid said, standing up. “Best to probably wait for the final results though, before I make my victory speech.”

“They’ll be in any time now,” her manager began. “If you want to, you might as well-”

“Breaking news!” one of the newscasters broke out in a louder voice. One of the campaign aides instantly turned up the volume. “The last results are in with an astonishing conclusion. District 11 now has 100% of the vote tallied, and, in a remarkable upset, pretty much all of the remaining 10% of the votes have gone for Iraina, making him the winner of District 11, 51 to 49%. Iraina has won the election.”


“But—but that’s not possible!” Iraina’s campaign manager was flabbergasted as Iraina stood up, putting on his shades as he prepared to give his victory speech.

“I told you that I’d win out on District 11,” Iraina said.

“But-but that was one of Astrid’s secure districts!” the campaign manager said. “She was beating you by 10 percentage points?! How could the remaining 10% of the vote go almost unanimously to you! It’s impossible! Look at the numbers, IRaina! Of the remaining percent-”

“I won it,” Iraina said confidently. “And that’s where we’ll leave it. Now, if you excuse me, I have a crowd to address. A new era has been born in Araelia. And I will lead this era to victory.”

Sorry if you thought that Jaigran was dead. What can I say? I have said before that this is a four 'book' series, and I'm not going to spend all of next year on the epilogue. Should've known that he wasn't actually dead. Just mostly dead...

Part LXVI: The Guardian

Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

Slowly, the tendrils of consciousness began to be again felt as he slowly realized that he was lying on the cold stone ground. Alive. Pain still rippled through his stomach as Jaigran slowly managed to stand up. His shirt was ripped and torn aside to reveal the gash across the stomach. But the gash was not as mortal as it once had been. It seemed less shallow—less long—as if his flesh was knitting back together. The blood had stopped, though there was a small pool under him.

Gripping his corsha spear, Jaigran managed to use it to stand up, leaning hard against it as he looked toward the window on his right, through which he must have come, and then the corridor stretching out to the left. Jaigran could see that he was high up in the Citadel. Nearly to the top. He hobbled toward the window, looking out to see what was out there. Below, elves mulled around, airships hovering overhead. A deathly silence filled the air, a signal that the battle had drawn to a close. Their attempt at assassination had failed.

Jaigran brought his wings up before realizing that it would not work. They were torn, and would need to heal. He would have to go down on foot. Hobbling forward, Jaigran moved down the hall, which began to curve around into a circle. A door emerged to his right, on the interior of the circular hall way, and stairs on his left. Jaigran moved toward the stairs to leave, and then paused, turning toward the door.

Something gripped him. And no matter how much Jaigran rationally justified his decision to move toward the stairs, he knew—he knew that he was supposed to go through the door. And, hand shaking, Jaigran slowly opened up the door and stepped into the central room on this level of the Citadel.

The circular room was tiled with elaborate patterns, unnaturally devoid of any of the dust that had accumulated in the other parts of the Citadel. Mosaics adorned the walls, scenes of battles and of golden corsha weapons. And, in the center of the room, reality ended.

A pillar of nothingness stood in the center of the room, a pillar indescribable with human terms. All Jaigran knew was that, in that pillar—if it could be called a pillar—reality ended and nothingness stood in. The hairs on the back of his head stood on end as he slowly stepped toward the pillar. And then it spoke.

Jaigran. A voice physical, and yet not. A voice almost mentally spoken, but yet physical. A voice which transcended reality. A voice that Jaigran remembered. The voice of the elven girl who had burst into his chamber. And Jaigran knew that he had found what he was supposed to find in the Citadel.

“I-I am here,” Jaigran said, planting his feet firm as he leaned on the spear.

You have arrived, the voice acknowledged. You have come to find me.

“What do you want with me?” Jaigran’s voice came out as a whisper.

I am the Guardian, the voice said. I am the sustainer of the world. And I have chosen you.

A chill went down Jaigran’s spine as he again spoke, repeating words. “What do you want with me?”

I offer you power, Jaigran. I have chosen you to free me from my bondage so that you may be Emperor over all.

“How can you give me that power?”

I am the Guardian. A being—if it could be called that—made out of the same nothingness stepped out form the pillar, slowly taking form until it became the translucent image of an elf, tall and with a look in his eyes, a look which told everything about how powerful the elf esteemed himself to be. I am the sustainer of the world.

“What do you mean?”

Who governs the world? Who keeps the world on its course around the sun? Who keeps the planet from hurtling into the unknown or being cast into the sun? Who formed the golden corsha objects long ago as a safeguard against evil? The being gazed at Jaigran. I, the Guardian, have done this.

“You lie.” Jaigran was shaken.

I lie? Ah, Jaigran. You know the truth in your heart. All this and more will I show you. Within me lies the power to rule over all. I can give you the world, Jaigran. I can destroy your enemies. The being extended out his hand toward Jaigran.

“What does it cost?” Jaigran knew that there was always a catch.

Items of nothingness came out of the pillar, forming illusions of objects—a spear, a rezquiet, a pair of gloves, an axe, a rapier, a pair of arjla swords, an axe, all formed out of golden corsha.

To be freed from my prison, all these objects you must collect, the Being said. The golden corsha weapons, endowed with power to defeat enemies, power that can be used to open my prison that I have been kept in for millennia. You have two of them already, the only reason that you still stand before me alive.

“What do you mean?” Jaigran asked, suddenly realizing the immense vault of power that he stood before.

Do you not know that your wound was mortal for an individual? Why have you outlived all other elves? The secret lies in the golden corsha, Jaigran. One would have not been enough, but two have sustained your life. You are not holding ordinary corsha weapons, Jaigran. You hold the weapons of legend.

“I already know that,” Jaigran said tersely. He knew that they were the weapons of legend—that’s why he kept them, though he had all other times gotten rid of corsha for guns.

You trust in them like a child—hoping and praying that they will save you, but having had no evidence to prove your hopes, the Being said. Until now. There was a tingle on Jaigran’s spine, and he slowly turned to see, hanging above the door, a golden corsha rapier, waiting to be picked up. Jaigran slowly walked toward it, and then moved his wings—surprised that the cuts on the wings had already healed, as he picked up the rapier with his other hand, now carrying three golden corsha weapons.

He slowly turned and came back to stood before the Being. “Now what?”

See how soon your wounds have healed. Jaigran looked down to see with astonishment, a mere scar across his stomach, the skin red and inflamed—but rejoined and connected again—the cut gone. Jaigran looked up in frightened wonder.

You must collect the four other weapons. A weapon was given to each race. You now have the humans’ spear, the elves’ rapier, and the orcs’ gloves, which have let you control the elements like I have. You will take the others and bring them unto the place that I have made to free me.

“Why should I trust you?”

I offer you power. I offer you life eternal, even as I have. I will continue to open my plan so that you will see how you will be Emperor of the universe. I will walk beside you in my body that I have formed of air. You must use your three golden corsha weapons to free my illusion.

“Free your illusion?”

My illusion that I have made is bound to this chamber. With your golden corsha weapons, you can free it to walk beside you. IT has no power of its own—fear not—but it is my spirit, with which I can walk beside you and instruct you. You can decide whether or not you fully trust me later. Join me Jaigran. I will give you the world. The being held out his hand toward Jaigran. And Jaigran took it.

Question of the Day:What is this Being?

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?

Part LXIV: The Elder Dragon

Date: Yippah 24th, 114 A.U.

The impact came softer than Flindle had imagined it to be. Instead of running into straight stone, the stone bent before him, the ivy covering the rock swishing from side to side as Flindle plunged into darkness. It began to dawn on him that the ivy must have been hiding some sort of entrance to a cave or cavern nestled deep within the mountain. And whatever was hiding in it, FLindle was sure to find out—if he survived that is.

Trying to steer it, Flindle finally leapt out from the plane, throwing himself through the glass of the side door at what he hoped was a rock face. It was. Flindle hit it, scrambling on it for dear life, and waited there for a moment, gasping as pain from both flying through the glass and hitting the wall caught up to him. Thanking the Mother Tree for his life, Flindle slowly clambered along the wall and then dropped down, careful not to hit the glass. He looked forward.

Ahead of him, there was an explosion as the plane hit what must have been the end of the tunnel, fire and debris flying everywhere as it illuminated the long descending tunnel that Flindle was in, and then a great cavern at the end, where the plane had exploded. There was a flash of reflection and, suddenly curious to what it could have been, Flindle moved forward. He ran down through the tunnel emerging into the chamber as the burning fragments of the exploded plane began to fade into the darkness. And then there was a rumbling growl.

Flindle leapt to the side as flames suddenly shot up, illuminating the chamber as the light reflected off of the heaps of gold, jewels, and other valuable vessels strewn about the chamber. And at the growling dragon that was slowly getting up, stretching itself out as it turned to gaze at Flindle as the darkness again set in.

Flindle moved to the side but the dragon was quicker. With a roar from his throat, flames again shot out, catching a piece of wood in the chamber to provide a more permanent light in the darkness. The dragon turned to stare at Flindle. The dragon was not the largest dragon as far as dragons went, at least, if the tales were to be believed. He wasn’t the smallest, but more in the middle, but with long streamlined wings and an agile body that turned as the dragon moved to focus in on Flindle. His ears were long and curled into long green-like whips that were up in the air before bending down behind him. Flindle had heard tales, stories of a dragon that lurked in the Great Forest, the Elder Dragon they had called him: the dragon who had stalked the forest from the beginning of the time. But the priests had declared all those stories to be rubbish and old wives’ tales. And so Flindle had believed it too. Until now.

Flindle hesitantly held out his corsha blade, to make it clear to the dragon that he wouldn’t be going down without a fight. The dragon bared its teeth and pawed at the ground, breathing fire down to cause the ground to crack and bubble, red light emitting from the ground as the dragon roared again at Flindle. He was going to have to do something to keep the dragon from incinerating him—and fast.

“I do not want to attack you—attack me do you not want to do,” Flindle said rapidly. “Friends we can be—friends against the elves as well. Peace between us—peace have we and I shall leave the chamber most rapidly!” The dragon bared its teeth menacingly.

Suddenly, Flindle moved to the side. There was a roar, and a cascade of flames hit the rock where he had been, causing the stones to glow. Skidding on coins, Flindle threw himself to the side, flipping over as he landed neatly on the dragon’s back, brandishing his sword as he prepared to stab the dragon with the burning corsha. Marks lined itself on the dragon’s neck—marks according to legend that dragon slayers had put on him when trying to kill him—proof of the dragon’s identity as the Elder Dragon.

But the Elder Dragon had different plans. Mounting on his haunches he sprang forth, moving around to try and shake him off. Grasping for anything, Flindle grabbed the closest thing he could to hang on, which happened to be the end of the dragon’s long ears. With a roar, the dragon suddenly took flight, flying forward up the tunnel as he shot flames out in front of him. Flindle gave a cry of surprise, moving the ears some as he quickly realized how he could direct the dragon’s movement by holding onto and moving the ends of the ears. There was a burst of flames in front of him, and then they flew through the flaming ivy back into the outside world.



The elves landed with firing going all around them as the winged elves threw the ropes over the side to let up their companions. Too late, Major Erklen was running toward the chaos, seeing everything crash in front of him as many of the goblins scattered before the elves as more began to climb up to join them.

“Forward! Cut them off! Take out their foothold!” Major Erklen yelled, but he could already see that it was going to be too late. The winged elves had made a wall all around where they had flung the ropes and were guarding it viciously, taking several hits from guns before they finally went down, replaced by more elves who had already gotten up the cliff.

Now the goblins were charging. Wielding their corsha weapons, they leapt at them, finally beginning to take away their foot hold from the cliff. Several gun shots went off behind him, and suddenly Major Erklen realized the point of all this: a distraction—that while they distracted them here, they would reign ruin behind them. It was all lost.

Major Erklen turned to see many of the goblin defenders shot down as he turned to look at the trees and at the elves sallying out. And then at the fiery explosion that took out the ground in front of them.

And then Major Erklen saw the Elder Dragon.

Longer post than usual, I know. But an epic battle for the power of Arquenia ain't a normal day event.

Part LXIII: Stab in the Back

Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

Rider loped down the corridor, ears attentive to the sounds of battle raging up ahead. He readied his gun as he rounded to the corner, thinking he was ready to see whoever was fighting up ahead. He wasn’t.

Before him, Reynyagn and Jaigran were fighting. Reynyagn—who was supposed to be dead if the orcs were to be trusted—which they weren’t—but that was besides the point. Jaigran—the Emperor of Arquenia—fighting there and well within his grasp. Rider pointed his gun, having prepared himself years before for the day when he would be able to end the life of a tyrant. And, with Jaigran in his sights, Rider fired.



Number 994 batted the chain lightning away with a flick of his hand, sending another current to send off the lightning of the attackers before striking with his own. They were nearly all gone by this point. Just a couple more and he’d be able to make his move.

Beside him, Orglan grunted as he absorbed the brute force of an attack before sending out with his own, a curious wave of lightning that crackled and leapt around the sides of the walls before zooming in on its targets. Screaming in pain, the orcs fell. Number 994 looked around to make sure they were gone, and then stepped closer to Orglan.

“Nice work!” Number 994 said. “We’ve got ‘em.”

“Aye,” Orglan said. “Now to figure out where Reynyagn and Monty got.”

“Aye,” Number 994 said, sending an electric shock into the back of Orglan’s head at the most vulnerable pressure point. “But not for the reasons that you might suggest.”

Orglan collapsed, rolling to look back up at Number 994 as his lips moved. “Why-”

“Because I’m Number 994, an Imperial orc,” Number 994 said. “And I am going to protect the rightful Emperor of Arquenia.”

“I… I knew-“ Orglan began as a spasm rolled through his body.

“You know nothing,” Number 994 spat. “Rest in peace, traitor.” A thread of lightning moved from his fingers to Orglan’s forehead. And then Orglan was still. Number 994 looked up, and then quickly took a couple steps away from Orglan’s body. If any of his “allies” asked, the other orcs had killed Orglan. Number 994 looked around a bit before quickly moving forward. The life of the Emperor was in danger. And, if he had to, he would do nearly anything he could to preserve the life of the Emperor.


“It appears that you haven’t lost your touch,” Emperor Jaigran snapped as he blocked Reynyagn’s swinging attack with his spear, shooting out a beam of lightning from his gauntlet to temporarily askew Reynyagn’s vision. Bringing his spear around, Jaigran thrust it at Reynyagn’s abdomen. Reynyagn bent around, swinging himself down to the ground and rolling up back on his feet to block Jaigran’s next attack.

“If I only had my corsha rezquiert as well, you would be all but beat,” Reynyagn snapped. He blocked a few more attacks before trying to press again to make some of his own. “Unfortunately, your goons took it from me when they kidnapped me last month.”

“Ah, so the great Sla’ad is powerless without his whip, is he?” Jaigran asked. “And here I thought you didn’t like our slaves in the labor camps while you’re all around here complaining that you don’t have your battle whip, though you might frame it in more professional-sounding names like rezquierts.”

“Don’t try to twist the facts,” Reynyagn snapped. “I’m not falling for them.”

“And I’m not falling for yours,” Jaigran said, narrowing his eyes. He leapt up, moving faster than Reynyagn brought possible as he brought down his spear.

Suddenly, the sound of a gun blared, and Jaigran whirled around, moving his spear as if reflexively to stop the bullet in its path, incinerating it instantly as it touched the hot corsha end of the spear. Reynyagn looked to see Rider moving forward, and then swung his sword up to attack Jaigran.

Jaigran quickly blocked, moving around as he sent a barrage of lightning toward Rider. Rider flung himself to the side, letting the lightning passed as he dropped to his knees. Rider yelled something that Reynyagn couldn’t understand and then fired several more gun shots, which Jaigran easily blocked.

“I don’t know how he can shoot lightning!” Reynyagn yelled as he battled Jaigran. “But he can!” Rider drew his corsha sword as he moved forward, trying to use it to deflect some of the lightning. Reynyagn quickly nodded. Together with Rider, they should be able to hem Jaigran in. There was only so much one could do when he was outnumbered two to one.

Jaigran swore and flicked his palm while blocking with his other hand. A stream of fire poured out, but Rider was ready. Throwing himself away from the flame and forward, he rolled past the wall of flame that Jaigran had attempted to make and brought up his sword to attack the Emperor.

Moving fast, Jaigran flew to the side of their attacks, blocking with his spear as he shot lightning out at Rider. Rider ducked and blocked with his sword as Jaigran swung at Reynyagn, using his body to try and force him into a corner. Reynyagn evaded him.


“Cortna’s sister?!” Zarien asked, bewildered. “But, but-”

“We’re twins,” Sereth said. “And, well, just trust me on this. You don’t want to meet Cortna.”

“She’s still alive?!”

“She might as well be dead,” Sereth snapped, still feeling a bit awkward after Zarien’s reaction when he thought she was Cortna. “Now listen—if you’re going to go kill the Emperor, you’re going to have to go now.”

“But-“ Zarien began.

“She isn’t here,” Sereth lied. “Now go!”

Zarien paused, and then ran out the door, the brown-cloaked man following him. Sereth bit her lip and then rushed back to the chamber, hoping and praying that Cortna was not among the dead. She had just met an elf who loved her sister, the Emperor was being attacked, and her sister might be dead. What else could frazzle her?


Number 994 crept softly up to the battle and edged around the wall, paying close attention to the burning flames that almost formed a solid wall between him and the fighting, the flames that were on either side, closing in the battle and slowly lessening the playing field between Rider, Reynyagn, and the Emperor. So Rider was still alive… But it mattered not. Not in the long run—as long as he kept them from killing the Emperor.

The Emperor was moving at speeds above the natural abilities of an elf, constantly blocking and using his lightning powers and weaving through the battle to try and overcome the two-on-one weakness. Number 994 didn’t know how Jaigran could use lightning. But he also didn’t care. All that mattered was that now it would be two-on-two. Except he had the element of surprise. Number 994 narrowed his eyes on Rider. The Sla’ad would resist the lightning. That meant he had one go to take out Rider before he was discovered. The elf would die.


Jaigran moved his spear from side to side to block the attacks as every alarm bell in his head gone off. Because of his walls of flame, he had cut off all possible exits. And now the two “Xavier Team” members had him cornered—one on either side. He had to get out of there. Jaigran brought up his spear, moving it to block each of the attacks as he moved back against the wall. They attacked again and Jaigran moved to the center, moving his wings below him as he already began to duck, Reynyagn and Rider swinging at him.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion for Jaigran. The two swords, swinging above his head. His hands moving as they thrust the spear up toward Rider’s unprotected chest. Rider already moving to avoid the spear. The splash of lightning, as, from some other source, an attack hit Rider dead on, stunning him. The look on Reynyagn’s face as he tried to figure out who had just paralyzed his friend. And the upwards motion as Jaigran thrust the corsha spear into Rider’s chest.

Rider fell back, his head thrown back as blood gushed out of his wound. Jaigran was already moving to block Reynyagn’s attack, but he had already lossed it. From out of the corner of his eye, Jaigran saw Reynyagn’s sword fall. He felt it as it began with a scratch on his shoulder—a scratch which widened and deepened as Reynyagn slashed him across his body. As excruciating pain filled his senses, Jaigran flew back, flying through the wall of flames as he tried to remember where the room with the window was.

He hit the ground, brushing past the Imperial orc as his gaze flashed across his chest and at the blood. IT was too deep. The blood was too much. He couldn’t survive. Jaigran tore past the door into the room and threw himself out the window as the rest of his body fainted. Jaigran gripped the corsha spears hard as darkness descended upon him. Was this how it was to all end? The mists of darkness slowly closing in? Jaigran’s wings beat upward as the darkness descended. And he knew no more.

Question of the Day:The reponsres won't be graded for pts (if you have a comment, it'll still be 2 pts), but I'm interested to hear your feedback. What do you think of all that's been going on in the Citadel?

My first Thursday post in a long time! Moving to the magical seventy second post, where I reach the end of Book II: The Northlands.

Part LXII: Duel to the Death

Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

The sounds of a battle were already ringing through the corridors of the Citadel as Reynyagn, Number 994, Orglan, and Monty dashed down the hall, looking around for any sight of the ongoing fighting.

“Who would be fighting in the Citadel?!” Monty yelled.

“Remember?” Orglan asked. “According to our leaks through Jaigran’s communicator, one of the other tribes of orcs is attacking this place!”

“Are they friendly?” Monty asked.

“No!” Orglan said. “At least, I’d be surprised if they were! Chances are they’re our enemies. We can only hope that they’ll see the Emperor as the greatest thought here! Otherwise, Jaigran’s got this thing won!”

Moments after those words slipped out of his mouth, a group of three orcs dashed into the hallway from an intersecting corridor. It took an instant for Number 994 to realize that their markings weren’t those of the Emperor’s orcs as he threw himself against the wall.

A barrage of chain lightning cracked through the corridor as Monty threw himself to the floor, Orglan battling it with his own energy, while Reynyagn ignored the lightning coursing threw him, taking great strides toward them. As the orcs turned to move, Reynyagn swung his corsha long sword around, slicing through the orcs and throwing one of them against the wall. An instant shock force from Number 994’s fingers quickly ended its agony.

“So they’re not totally on our side,” Monty remarked.

“Just keep on going!” Orglan said. “Jaigran’s bound to be close! We have to get there before he gets away!”



“Move!” Flek barely had time to shove Rider the remaining couple feet into the intersecting corridor before he threw himself to the ground, lightning and bullets blazing above his heads. Rolling, Flek brought up his blades to block the shots at him before he leapt backwards through a doorway, landing besides Astrid.

“Quick! Give me your gun,” Flek said. Snatching Astrid’s gun from her open hands, Flek stepped out to take a couple blasts at them before ducking back.

“I can’t do so well against orcs and elves,” Flek quickly explained to Astrid. “There’s too many of them for us to deal with them as we did before. We’ve got Rider safe. Now we just have to keep ourselves alive.”

“Where can we go?” Astrid said, quickly scanning the premises of the room. “There’s no exits or windows!”

“There’s always a way,” Flek said, stepping back as he quickly shut the door, bolting it. “Barricade the door long enough for me to get us out of here!” Flek ran to the large bed and quickly scurried up one of its post. Stabbing his corsha blades up, he quickly began to move them up to cut a circle in the wall. To get themselves out of the room before they ran out of time.



The ambush came upon them fast. Just as soon as Monty and Reynyagn had cleared the door way, the Imperial orcs moved out of it, throwing lightning around. Grabbing Monty by the arm, Reynyagn ducked into a side corridor.

“We have to keep moving without them,” Reynyagn said, referring to Number 994 and Orglan. “They can fight them off well enough, and we need to find Jaigran before it’s too late. He’s had plenty of time already to escape; it will be a wonder if he hasn’t escaped already.”

“Wait!” Monty yelled, pointing ahead in the hall as he ran to keep up with Reynyagn. “The person who just got out of that side corridor there! Isn’t that-”

“Jroldin!” Reynyagn skidded to a stop as Jroldin reflexively brought up his axe in a defensive position. “No, it’s me!” Reynyagn said.

“Reynyagn? Monty?!” Jroldin asked, mouth dropping. “But how-“

“We don’t have time!” Reynyagn said, trying to keep his mind from going off into the rabbit trails about how Jroldin had also gotten entangled into this mess. “We need to find the Emperor!”

“I had seen him a couple minutes ago before-” Jroldin began.

Footsteps. Reynyagn spun around just in time to see the barrage of lightning headed for them. Throwing himself forward, Reynyagn put himself between him and Monty, absorbing the lightning as it harmlessly dissipated in his body. Reynyagn crouched, straightened up, and then boldly stepped forward as the figure came into view.

“So. Not only are you long-lived, but you’re half-orc also.”

“You could say that…” The winged elf slowly stepped forward, holding his golden corsha spear in one hand, and pointing with one of his golden gauntlets with his other hand. “And who do you pretend to be? Another member of your supposed Xavier Team?”

“Monty, get in a side corridor,” Reynyagn hissed. “One shot with his lightning and you have no defense. Just stick there and shoot with your gun if need be. Jroldin has his corsha axe to protect him.”

Monty moved to the side as Reynyagn looked back to face Jaigran. “Aye, I am, even if you have lost belief in the prophesy,” he said. “I am Reynyagn, last of the Sla’ad. “ A look flashed across Jaigran’s face. “Yes, you know me, don’t you.” Reynyagn took another step forward. “The only Sla’ad to survive the massacre that you led. The Sla’ad you longed to kill although Astrid stayed your hand. Oh yes, I know you, Jaigran. And it’s good to see you again before I kill you.”

If Jaigran feared him, he did not show it. “I had almost forgotten how hard it was for you to forget what happened,” he calmly said as he continued to slowly walk toward Reynyagn. “How you could never forget everyone that you lost on that day. A pity you didn’t die there too, or that your Triumvirate friend Astrid had been able to keep you alive. But that matters not. I took down her power on that fateful day and now I will finish my work with you.”

“Go ahead and try,” Reynyagn said calmly, as he brought back his sword as he prepared for the assault that was now inevitable. “A duel to the death between you and me. A duel to decide the fate of the world.”

“Oh yes, go ahead and pretend like you have a chance.” Flames shot out from Jaigran’s glove, moving out past Reynyagn as they hit the ground, creating a wall of flames behind Reynyagn. “A duel to the death—you and I—without those allies of yours. Die well, Reynyagn.”

And Emperor Jaigran moved forward.

Question of the Week:In light of my "intro" part of the post, spread a rumor about one of the characters in this post by twisting what they said. Take one or some of their quotations, and remove words as you want (with '...' between where you cut), to make it seem like they said something that they didn't...

Saturday was hectic. I apologize for the missed posts... From now on, I'm also going to be posting serial parts on Thursdays to finish Book II.

Part LXI: The Face of the Emperor

Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.

Jroldin had just smashed his axe into the door, breaking it in pieces, when everything seemed to happen at once. Zarien gave a yell and began shooting his gun as Jroldin tried to see what was happening. Brother Tomas’ gun was a roaring as Jroldin did everything he could to block the bullets coming toward him. Everything seemed to move differently—the bullets moved slower—his arms almost had a mind of his own as they moved upwards and down to block the bullets as Jroldin moved into the room, along with Zarien and Brother Tomas. There were multiple elves lying dead on the floor with others behind book cases. A short elf with overlooming black wings was making for the doorway along with some female elf.


Cortna. Zarien’s mouth dropped open as all of his feelings flew toward his head. Cortna was but feet away. With the Emperor. With a roar, Zarien ran forward, shooting at any of the remaining guards. He heard Brother Tomas yell something behind him, but Zarien didn’t care. Darting around the bend, he moved to again catch sight of the fleeing Emperor, and Cortna, running behind him. Zarien pointed his gun. And he fired.

With super-natural quickness that wasn’t right for an elf, Jaigran spun around, bringing up a corsha spear to block the attack. His lips moved into a snarl and he pointed a golden finger at him as Zarien took note of the golden gloves that went around the Emperor’s hands. They looked like the kind that the orcs used to work their magic. But Jaigran wasn’t an orc. He couldn’t use magic.

Crackling lightning spun out of Jaigran’s hand, a dance of fire interplaying with the electricity, and surged toward him. Too late, Zarien moved to the side. But, at the last moment, the electricity moved, spinning into fragments as a golden corsha axe moved out in front of him, nearly lopping his head off, as the electricity buzzed around the corsha, slowly dissipating.

Zarien stood back up to stand with Jroldin and pointed his gun at the Emperor, and at Cortna who had moved to the side, not wanting to be in the fight. Cortna looked different, as if she had something that just didn’t make sense. It didn’t even look like she recognized him! Zarien’s gaze hardened as he turned back to the Emperor.

“You’re fools!” Jaigran yelled. “Fools to try and come here! Who are you, that you think you can outface me?”

“I am Zarien,” Zarien replied curtly. “Zarien… of the Xavier Team.” A look of shock played across Jaigran’s face as he realized whom Zarien was claiming to be.

“And I am Jroldin,” Jroldin added on. “The Priest-King of the Xavier Team.”

But the Emperor had already gotten over his shock. Ignoring Jroldin’s proclamation, Jaigran leapt toward them, swinging his spear around to impale Zarien. Stepping out, Jroldin brought up his axe, blocking the blow as he moved to the right; Zarien moving to the left and shooting at the Emperor. A snap of the fingers and a shock of lightning afterwards, and the bullet was gone. Jroldin stepped back as Zarien did the same, both of them preparing for the Emperor’s next assault.

But it never came. Leaping to the side, a fire ball spun forth from Jaigran’s hands, consuming the door next to him in a large explosion. As flames flew forth, dry sparks landing on some of the books, Jaigran made for the door way. Zarien looked as Cortna gave a cry and ran toward the flaming books, using her satchel to try to put the fire out.

“Come on!” Jroldin yelled, and ran out the door after the Emperor. Zarien started, and then paused, spinning around as he ran over toward Cortna.

Cortna had just managed to barely keep the flames from eating up the books as Zarien moved beside her, putting out the last flame. He turned to look at Cortna and Cortna looked at him, a hint of fear in her eyes, and a look of confusion.

“Cortna!” Zarien said, drawing her close to him as his feelings overcame him, bending down to kiss her. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

Cortna flinched, stepped back from his embrace, and then stared at him. “I…” she began. “I’m not Cortna.”

“What are you talking about?” Zarien asked, confused. “You are-”

“I am Cortna’s twin sister, Sereth.”



Where was Zarien?! Jroldin looked around, but, to his dismay, could not see Zarien as he continued to try to chase the Emperor. But the Emperor was too quick for him. Beating the air with his wings, the Emperor flew beyond him, using his wings to move faster than him, as Jroldin began to grasp the hopelessness of his cause. Where was Zarien?


Emperor Jaigran paused as he neared the window, looking outside before quickly backing up, looking around to make sure that the idiot dwarf hadn’t found him. Outside there raged a calamatious battle, fighting going on everywhere as the elven airships were coming in to quell the rebellious orcs that were ransacking their camp. He pushed his communicator to speak to his aide, but nothing lit up. He pushed a few more times before angrily slamming it to the floor. It wasn’t working. And without that communication, there was no telling how safe it was for him to venture forth into the midst of the battlefield.

He looked from side to side to make sure that no intruders were coming and then paused. Why was he afraid of this Xavier team? Why didn’t he go and make mincemeat out of their men? They weren’t anything to be afraid of. Jaigran pursed his lips. The fools, to think themselves the real Xavier Team. It mattered not that the dwarf had golden corsha weapons. He would merely kill the dwarf and then take his weapons for his own. Jaigran unfurled his wings. And then he flew toward the corridor.