Last part of the Arquenia Saga... Tune in for concluding notes on Saturday...
Epilogue: Rising Tide
Date: Yippah 19th, 114 A.U.
The aircraft slowly moved into the first-class docking slot in the Mothership, cranes and mechanical arms moving out to slowly bring it into port, the ship finally coming to rest in the landing dock in the Mothership, the hangar doors into the landing dock slowly closing as a gangway was stretched out to slowly rest on the floor, steam emitting from the ship.
Two guards with firesticks came out first, abolishing any shadows around them as two figures followed them. Wings overshadowing him, Jaigran strode forward, golden gauntlets on his hands as in one hand he held on to a spear. His other rested on the hilt of his corsha rapier, which he had attached to his belt. Some of the elven nobles murmured and gestured. Why was the Emperor in possession of those weapons which he had long ago dismissed as old-fashioned?
A tall elf walked next to the Emperor, his eyes slanted upwards as he haughtily gazed at all those around him. His skin was pale, and he walked strangely, as if he hadn’t walked before. And, to the keen-eyed, he cast no shadow. Even Jaigran had the pale illusion of a shadow, brightened by the two guards with fire-sticks firing. But this elf had none. When asked, he gave only one word to who he was. The Watcher.
Jaigran cruelly smiled as he walked out of the landing dock, moving to his headquarters. For one hundred and fourteen years he had ruled, seeking to stamp out the remaining opposition, but now it no longer mattered.
He would burn them with fire.
Epilogue: Rising Tide
Date: Yippah 19th, 114 A.U.
The aircraft slowly moved into the first-class docking slot in the Mothership, cranes and mechanical arms moving out to slowly bring it into port, the ship finally coming to rest in the landing dock in the Mothership, the hangar doors into the landing dock slowly closing as a gangway was stretched out to slowly rest on the floor, steam emitting from the ship.
Two guards with firesticks came out first, abolishing any shadows around them as two figures followed them. Wings overshadowing him, Jaigran strode forward, golden gauntlets on his hands as in one hand he held on to a spear. His other rested on the hilt of his corsha rapier, which he had attached to his belt. Some of the elven nobles murmured and gestured. Why was the Emperor in possession of those weapons which he had long ago dismissed as old-fashioned?
A tall elf walked next to the Emperor, his eyes slanted upwards as he haughtily gazed at all those around him. His skin was pale, and he walked strangely, as if he hadn’t walked before. And, to the keen-eyed, he cast no shadow. Even Jaigran had the pale illusion of a shadow, brightened by the two guards with fire-sticks firing. But this elf had none. When asked, he gave only one word to who he was. The Watcher.
Jaigran cruelly smiled as he walked out of the landing dock, moving to his headquarters. For one hundred and fourteen years he had ruled, seeking to stamp out the remaining opposition, but now it no longer mattered.
He would burn them with fire.
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