Mordred
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Out of the strange waters, at a distance from the first island, rose an ancient, low-lying wall of stone that enclosed a pit that was more of a simple hole in the ground than an actual pit. Surrounding the wall were a few trees, growing so close to each other as to almost choke one another, that slowly faded as the eye wandered farther from the pit, as if it was a small patch of an old forest. Standing atop the wall was a man clad in dark purple hooded robes, embroidered with navy blue trimmings and markings.
”Hmmmm, which one to pick…” a man’s voice was heard, all around and yet coming from nowhere at the same time. It was a cruel and hard voice, with gravely undertones of old age and sadistic, murderous intent. “Ah, I choose thee, blond child.”
Suddenly, Taran’s vision changed. Around him were the stones of the old walls, trapping him. He found that he could not turn his head or shift his eyes, as if he were looking through a camera, or the eyes of another. Lying on the ground before him was a terror-stricken child, appearing to be no older than eight or nine, with a soft brown shock of hair, skin the color of honey, and ears that tapered to a point. The expression in the girl’s emerald eyes was that of raw fear, unadulterated and enhanced by her innocence of youth.
As the teen gazed through foreign eyes with pity, the view was lowered to the hands of a comparatively pale-skinned child, carrying a rusted knife with a serrated edge clumsily between its fingers. Then, the child looked up to the robed man leering from above. His face was carved with lines of age, and his jaw hidden by a bushy grey beard that fell to the man’s waist. In his black eyes was a glint that was a mix of glee and hatred, with his face contorted in an expression of mirth and contempt all at once. “Yes, elf-boy,” the man seethed between his startlingly white teeth. “Obey my commands.”
The boy’s vision then turned once more upon that of the girl, and began to draw closer. As light footsteps could be heard in Taran’s ears, a voice within his head began to cry out fearfully; the thoughts of the boy bearing the knife, as if they were the human’s own thoughts.
Please, no! Don’t make me do this!
”Thou shalt obey! Thy body is mine to control, and thy mind a helpless onlooker!” As the man vocally replied to the boy’s thoughts, he raised the blade within his victim’s hand, drawing nearer to the terrified girl. ”Thou shouldst run from thy friend, girl…”
At this, the girl bolted up and ran as fast as her short legs could bear her, the boy’s possessed body taking chase amid the child’s inner protests and the man’s harsh cackle. Soon, though, the girl tripped over a fallen stone, and raised her arms in vain as the boy descended upon her… Just as the blade bit inter her flesh, Taran’s vision snapped back into that of his own, and he was within his own body once more, on all fours and gasping for air. Around him, several others were in similar states of shock and revulsion, only intensified by the fact that they could still hear the event occurring within the pit… The wails went on for several minutes, shocking all to their cores. When they had finally died down, the man began to speak once more.
”And now to deal with thee…” the old wizard said threateningly as he passed down a bucket of water into the pit. ”Clean thyself off with tha’.” The boy, now fully in control of his own body, began to sob within the pit, horrified by what he was forced to do. Before the robed torturer could make good on his words though, another man’s voice was heard.
“Mordred! Elemina!” a worried voice called out, as if searching for the children.
”Damned elf… Looks like thou live today, boy. Hand over the bucket; thou art clean enough.” Taking back the bucket, the man turned tails and fled, literally fading out of view. Moments later, another man appeared, the same man who was yet bearing a swaddled babe in his arms by the grave marker. From afar, Taran could not see the expression of horror upon the man’s face, but his body language told all. Unlike the island, the forest scene faded into nothingness before their eyes.
“’Ey, mon, issit yer first time?” an eerily cheery voice with a Jamaican accent asked Taran from his left. The young adult craned his neck to see a large crab swaying upon its legs, its claws raised up in the air. “Ohhhh, I know tha’ look, mon. Jus’ sit back an’ enjoyyyy de show!”
”I said no more of such talk,” the worried man’s voice from before said harshly from all around. ”Thou didst not kill your cousin. Thou art not responsible, my son. He skinned her alive…”
”B-but father-“ the boy began, only to be cut off.
”No more, child. My word is final. One as young as thee art incapable of such an act. Now, off to bed.” This was followed by the sound of light footsteps ascending a flight of wooden stairs, and a sigh from the father mired in denial.
”Brother, doth thou not think thou art hard on the boy?” another man’s voice said quietly. ”What if he speaks well and true?”
”No, brother, it is a lie! This twisted murderer hath wracked my son with guilt, making him believe he is responsible for thy daughter’s untimely demise. He’s responsible for one death already, and I w-“
”Thou doth go too far, brother! I’m the one who has lost a child this day! For you to continue to think that he was responsible for the death of his mother is wholly unjust! He was born, and she died bringing him into this world! He is not to blame! Yet thou doth continue to loathe him for it! Hatred won’t bring her back, Mortimer! Thou shouldst be relieved that Mordred lives. Instead, thou doth curse and spurn him!”
”It would hath been far better if Elemina didst live, and Mordred perished…”
”Mother would be ashamed of thee…” the man’s brother seethed. ”Thou doth insult me when thou lament thy imaginary woes, instead of consoling thy grief-stricken brother! My wife shalt surely die of a broken heart, and all thou canst do is wail at how it was thy own child who lives! A parent should never have to bury their own child, much less in such a disfigured state. I could never wish the same misfortune upon anyone, not even the most brutal of the human kings. Thou art a cruel, twisted man indeed, Mortimer, if thou wouldst think in such a manner.”
“Go. Console thy wife, brother. We have nothing left to say.” With that, the sound of heavy, angry footsteps could be heard, followed by the slam of a solid door. Then, all was still.
“What-what just happened?” Taran asked with a bemused expression on his face.
“Yer lookin’ inte de past!” the crab replied gaily, snapping his mismatched claws as he did. “Now fer de timeskip…”
Spires continued to rise out of the surface of the water, until a castle bearing black standards emblazoned with a golden dragon head with a crown stood out for all to see, with a massive army of armored men facing away from it by the gates, as if ready to charge. A solid line of cavalry stood at the head of the army, roughly two hundred mounts wide and three mounts thick. A small army, but at that point of history, armies were on the smaller size, given the size of the warring states they fought for.
As the observers absorbed the sight before them, an opposing army began to materialize, slowly shifting from ephemeral to solid forms. The opposing army easily outnumbered the defenders three to one, and had superior equipment and arms on hand. At the head of the attackers was a mounted man with a crown of bones grafted into the crest of his helmet, signaling him as the ruler.
”Is this all the great Slugwrath can muster?” the king taunted, evoking chuckles and guffaws from his soldiers. ”Pitiful!”
In response, one of the defenders broke rank. His livery was slightly better than that of his kin, and shield bore the castle’s crest while that of his army did not. ”Oh, Thardagul, thou fool,” the man called out with a smug tone and a smirk on his grimy face. “Didst thou really think I hadst abandoned mine kingdom, sealed away within my fortified walls while thou pillaged my people, with nothing prepared to strike thee down in all thy arrogance?”
This said, the leader of the defenders hung his shield upon his horse’s side and his axe at his hip and drew forth the bow upon his back. Raising it up into the sky, he knocked an arrow with a green head, pointed almost directly up. With a thwang, he released the projectile into the air, and in a flash of green light, its magics came forth, leaving a trail of light as it soared upwards and arced town into the ground before Thardagul’s steed.
As the opposing king looked on with a bemused expression, several terrible roars echoed in the heavy air from behind the Slugwrath palace. Like a rising stormcloud, great winged lizards burst out of hiding, each one with a regal warrior sitting upon their backs. Numbering about a thousand, the dragon riders descended upon their terrified foes with clashing metal and fire delivered upon wings of death. At their head was a great white dragon with horns and claws of gold and angelic wings, with a rider garbed in armor of platinum and trimmings of gold fashioned into wings.
Even as he led his brethren into one-sided combat, more ephemeral forms began to materialize on top of this scene, ignoring the presence of the ongoing battle as they conducted their own. New battles and wars were growing and overlapping upon the first, each independent and happening through another. The number of imaginary combatants swelled, overcoming the observing Malagath dreamers and passing through their frightened forms as they did that of fighters of other battles. Always though, the man in platinum armor was at the center of each conflict, cutting down his foes mercilessly at different times and places.
Taran looked around in the chaos, watching several battles unfold on top of one another around him. A swordsman rushed through his body without heed, only to be crushed underneath the foot of a savage tree-like creature. A massive humanoid, standing a full six feet higher than the average man, brought her fist upon the nose of a lanky dragon with such force as to rend its tapered head apart. As the teen lost sight of the Malagath in the mayhem, he noticed that the crab beside him was not only at his side, but seemingly everywhere at once, in several different forms. One was larger than even a dragon, another was flashing in different colors like the lights of a danceclub. Another still was seemingly cooked and served on a platter, yet still danced amid the confusion, as if the sounds of several wars before him were but music for his entertainment.
“W-what is this?” Taran bemoaned as he drew his head down in anguish, about to clasp it in his hands. However, gazing upon his hands, he saw that they were not his own, but those of twisted gauntlets of ebony, fashioned into intimidating, spiked forms. Dripping from the metal was blood, pouring like crimson waterfalls from between his seemingly armored fingers.
A hand grasped Taran’s shoulder, striking him with fear, for the visions before him harmlessly passed through what was not part of their own happenings. The teen whirled around to see Salvar, his face contorted into pain.
“Where are we?” the boy demanded angrily, trying to shake the image of his deformed hands from his memory.
“I don’t know how,” the black-clad man seethed, “but we’re in his subconscious.”
“Whose?”
“That of Mordred himself,” the Italian admitted dryly, hate dripping from his tongue. “This is utter insanity. Our own consciousnesses are beginning to blend with his; the safety measures of the system have failed.”
“How could this have happened?”
“I already told you I don’t know,” the old man snapped angrily. “That isn’t what matters; if this doesn’t end soon, we may be unable to leave, like Moebius.”
“Who?” Taran questioned, unfamiliar with the name. In answer, Salvar merely began to guide Taran through the ongoing melee around them, until they arrived before the form of a man in a coat identical to Salvar’s, huddled into fetal position.
“This is Moebius…” Salvar said, a pang of regret in his voice.
“Who is he?” Taran began. ”What is he? Is he another part of his subconscious?”
“Yes and no,” the man replied cryptically. “You can touch him because he’s not from here, like we aren’t, but he’s trapped here. Lost in Tumultu’s inner mind.”
“How?”
“He found out that we had been lied to… That our souls would not be restored, and we’d remain Forsaken… He tried to stop Tumultu’s vision of a utopian tyranny, intending to change his beliefs. He entered his mind, trying to change Tumultu’s past memories. He underestimated Tumultu’s will, and was ultimately consumed by this bedlam.”
Moebius himself was whispering all the while under his breath while Salvar spoke, until he suddenly burst up, grasping Taran by the shoulders and shaking him violently. “The other!” he rasped, his voice a haunting, imploring shadow of a man’s voice, emanating from the shadows under his heavy hood. “Find the other half!”
“What?” Taran cried out half in fear and half from curiosity, struggling to break free.
“The other half! Restore the whole!” Then, the life faded from the man’s broken form as he released Taran, returning to his fetal position and fearful mutterings of black doom.
“This is what this constant maelstrom of the inner workings of a twisted monster has done to him,” Salvar said with remorse. “It’s a shame. Moebius was such a brilliant man even in the shadow of life we all shared…”
At this point, the darkened waters they hovered over were writhing, choppy waves nearly licking their soles. As the sea of Mordred’s subconscious built up its fury, the ephemeral memories began to ascend into the now howling winds above, eventually rising above the storm clouds that now swirled ominously. Now, Taran could again see the Malagath, most of who had collapsed to the unseen ground from the fright of what had assailed them. Theirs was a pampered lifestyle, and to be confronted with such madness, such bloody conflict… Their senses had broken down under the assault, leaving their minds reeling from hitherto unknown concepts.
However, now standing at the center, by the grave with the blurred name, was the Eludinari himself, gazing all around him, resting his gaze upon the forms of the dancing crabs all around him. “I hadst made it expressly clear, Old One, that my mind is mine own domain,” he said coldly, his red eyes glowing ominously.
At this, the thousands of crabs all converged on one point in front of the malevolent Tumultu, forming a massive, nightmarish creature, composed into shapes that defied the senses out of various crab parts; claws that were both rounded and flat at once, eyes that blinked stupidly yet seemed triangular, legs that twitched in odd patters. A monstrosity of non-Euclidian geometry, deformed in nature and intent.
“I AM CRABASTIAN,” the creature boomed, the source of its voice unclear. “ALL SENTIENT LIFE HARBORS MY DOMAIN, FER MY DOMAIN IS O’ DE DARK RECESSES O’ DE MIND. EVEN YO’ KIND KEN DO NO-THING TO KEEP ME OUT, MON.”
“So thou mayst think, eldritch creature,” Mordred replied. “But it mayst shock thee to find my mind of hardier mettle than thou first suspected.” He snapped his metal-clad fingers, the sound echoing loudly over the shrieking gales of the worsening storm. Immediately, the creature fell into the murky waters, as if the ground had collapsed from underneath its burden, and it began to flail its misshapen appendages uselessly.
“’EY, MON, WHADDYA THINK YER DOIN’?!” the creature’s voice boomed, a panicked tone in its cadence.
“If thou doth revel within my subconscious, unseen and unnoticed by me, then why should it bother thee to forever join it?” the Eludinari said casually. His voice took on a cruel tone as he continued with “Oh, it mayst strip thee of thy transcendent nature, trapping thee to my mind, and mine alone, but would it not be worth the show? Wouldst thou not wish to give up all thy material ties to revel in my torments?”
The creature did not reply as a whirlpool formed, beginning to suck its bloated, slim form into the depths. Instead, it became a spectre, fading into nothingness as it abandoned the display it so enjoyed. Becoming trapped in one subconscious would rob Crabastian of his ability to view the minds of other beings, and would leave him at the mercy of the twisted Eludinari.
The whirlpool continued to churn, though, until its bottom reached the bed of the waters, revealing a broken man hunched over and wrapped in chains. His tousled hair was a faded silver, and pooled all around him in its great length, obscuring much of his tattered golden cape. His armor was of platinum, covered in scratches and pockmarks and dents, and the golden trim and wings had lost their lustre. The chains that bound him were a great and heavy weight, binding the man in place, and leaving no room for adjustment.
Gazing down upon the man, Tumultu leapt down to confront him, paying no heed to the raging waters. Taran, Salvar, and Arianna rushed over to see what was about to transpire, making sure to stay aay from the edges, lest they fall in as Crabastian had. Below, the two men were speaking, the bound man raising his head as much as he could, despite the evident strain it put upon his weakened form.
“Who art thou, chained up like so within my mind?” the Emperor demanded, already knowing who stood before him.
In response, the broken man merely laughed, starting from a low chuckle and building up to a mad cackle that could be heard over the rushing water that surrounded him. It was a chilling laugh, the kind that soaks through the flesh of men and cuts deeply into the soul. “Thou doth know who I am already; I see the terror within what remains of thy soul, and the disgust upon thy countenance. There is no mistaking me for another, for we art one and the same, thou and me.” He shifted in his chains, rising a surprising degree for the weight of his burden, for he rose far higher than his bonds should have allowed. “As for thy mind… Whatever gave thee such a notion?”
“Thou speak in twisted words and half-truths. Out with it, dog, speak of thy state. This is mine own domain, within the recesses of my mind. This can be no other.”
Again, Tumultu’s words only elicited a laugh from the vision before him. “Thou speak as if thou art an ignorant child on this matter. Thou doth know all too well that thou art a being lost between the dichotomy of the universe; not full in spirit, yet not Forsaken, either. A cruel twist of Fate, to have thy soul split in half…”
“There is no fate; fate is an illusion of the weak, and a tool of oppression, meant to keep the powerless where they ‘belong’ and the powerful upon their lofty thrones, perpetuating a system of injustice with Chaos upon their backs. Nothing is prescribed by fate; it is Chaos alone who drives the workings of our lives, and his hand mayst be stayed by my machinations.”
“Thou doth speak like an intimate friend scorned; how canst thou know the workings of an imperceptible force, that only one other hath before claimed to know of? The chains that bind me here art crafted of our own doing, yet my prison hath not been fashioned out of thy mind. I am thee, yet not thee, all at once. My prison is purely physical, and even now wanes in its strength. See, now, how I extend my reach beyond what it once was! How the chains that bind me grow weaker as their links fade! Lo, the time is near when what was once lost shalt be found anew; look into thy heart, and know it to be true! I have visited thee more than once in the past few years, weighing upon thy heart and soul like a forgotten weight remembered anew in bits and pieces! What was whole was sundered, and shalt be forged anew!”
“Lies!” Tumultu barked back, looming over his former self. “Thou art lost to me; it has been so since time immemorial. My heart is mine own, as whole as it shalt ever be. Thou wert lost, yea, and shalt remain so. That which hath split me cannot be overcome, for the barriers of time and nature art far too great for any force to surpass.”
The bound Mordred grinned savagely, the mark of madness weighing heavily upon his brow as his teeth glinted from under icy-blue eyes that shone brightly in stark contrast with the murky waters. As much as I love this conversation,” he mused, “our time is fleeting; the connection weak. Goodbye, ‘Emperor’…”
The whirlpool suddenly collapsed upon itself, crashing around the two violently, the currents dragging Tumultu back up to the surface. He did not fight back against the waves of his subconscious, instead letting his thoughts linger upon the half-remembered tomb-stone with the unknown name. It was that of his mother. Mother. Such a strange concept. Only a father had been known to him in life, and what a cruel life he had. No one had any recollections of her. What she was like, what she wore, what she believed in, what she smelled of. None of the things a child learns of their mother, just as a mother learns of her child. The feel of her arms, her caresses, her aura. Not even a name. Father had always held his memories of her closely, almost making an unseen idol or deity of her. Because father had never loved him. Certainly not as mother would. Mother…
“SYSTEM FAILURE! SYSTEM FAILURE! THE MATRIX HAS BEEN BREACHED! PLEASE EXCUSE NHAR’JUSK FOR THE INCONVENIENCES; WE WILL ATTEMPT TO SOLVE THE TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! PLEASE AMUSE YOURSELVES WITH THE FULL ENTERTAINMENT SYSTEM INCLUDED IN YOUR CHAMBERS!”
This is what Tumultu opened his eyes to, an electronic message blaring around him as he groggily felt the bindings around his arms, legs, and head. Hr was dimly aware of the opening wall panels that let in a rush of mechanical drones; hulking, featureless things, crafted out of a pristine chrome-like metal in seemingly one single piece, forming roughly humanoid forms with broad shoulders and a single stilt to balance upon. Their single horizontal slits of an eye were all trained upon him, their arms raised threateningly like built-in cannons. Similarly, heavy multi-barreled cannons hung down from the ceiling, red laser sights trained upon his head.
Without warning, the bindings that held him in place were released as the drones surrounded the chair, numbering at least a hundred. As the Eludinari drew his form up from his position and alighted upon the ground with an uncharacteristic lack of grace, one of the drones addressed him in a mechanical monotone.”The intrudar will come into cust-o-dy.”
Still half-dazed, the Emperor replied “No.”
“The intrudar will come into cust-o-dy, or they will be TAR-MIN-ATE-ED.”
“Thou seem to fail to grasp my meaning,” the pale-faced man replied chillingly, his voice taking on a grim tone. “And really, if thou art going to threaten me, thou shouldst at least be proper about it.”
“Par-don?”
“Thou didst mean to say, ‘The intruder will come into custody, or he or she will be terminated’.”
This was met with silence at first, until the outstretched cannon of the drone’s arm began to hum, the opening of the barrel building up a steady, thrumming glow. “TAR-MI-NATE!”
Tumultu, in a sudden moment of alacrity traditional for him, easily sidestepped the green projectile. It missed its intended mark, instead hitting another drone squarely in the caricature of a torso it possessed. Instantly, the metalwork being was reduced to little more than a cloud of vapor. With short delay, the rest of the drones began firing at the blur that was their target, missing by huge margins. The cannons rained a salvo down from above, but were likewise unable to hit their target, instead striking down drones more oft than naught.
As the slender, armor-clad man weaved between his foes, a single Bereaver flashed from his hand, striking down indiscriminately. He tired of this game, though, thinking it a waste of his weapon to use on such poor opponents. He leapt up into the air, above the his foes, perching atop one of the cannons with his cloak drawn close around him, like a bird of prey, prepared to swoop down upon a moment’s notice. He thrust one of his talon-like hands into the weapon, easily breaking through its flimsy carapace and grasping the mechanics below. With a surge of Energy flowing down his arm, Tumultu sent the cannon into overdrive, its several chambers firing at a breakneck pace. Using the wires he clutched as a makeshift rein, he guided the instrument of destruction, mowing down his foes with a sense of poetic justice. In short time, nothing remained within the chamber, aside from the cannon he himself had used. With little effort, he ripped out most of the device’s inner workings, rendering it harmless.
The pleasantries complete, Mordred dropped to the ground, his descent slowing until he alighted softly upon the ground. Turning to the heavy seal of the chamber’s doors, he saw they were locked, and drew his hand back, charging Cold energies in his grip. With a thrust of his palm, the metal was shorn through by shards of Ice, which shattered harmlessly when the caster drew his open hand into a fist. The Eludinari stepped out from his poor would-be-prison, dark intent in his eyes. As he strode purposefully through the corridors, dark portals opened upon the unadorned walls, unleashing a flood of Imperial Judges who followed upon their master’s light footsteps and billowing cloak. By his sides were Galbradi and Alister, ready to hand down judgement. They made their way towards Nhar’Jusk, striking down any obstacles in their path…
“Quickly!” Salvar said with a frantic tone. “We must head to Nhar’Jusk, before it’s too late!” He set off at an amazing pace, his feet almost flying, with Arianna close behind and Taran leading the tail. Far ahead of any of them was Luxord, who had begun his mad dash before the system failure had been announced.
The trio arrived before the seal to Nhar’Jusk’s command chamber to see Luxord striking down two men in heavy, ornate armor of obsidian color, his savagery hitherto unseen. The three aided him, and with short delay incapacitated one Judge and dealing a mortal wound to the other. It was Arianna who had dealt the lethal blow, surprisingly, with her bare hands no lest. With a savage punch, she had crumpled the woman’s breastplate in, the metal serving as a killer rather than a savior.
However, for all their haste, they were far too late. When the door finally parted, they beheld a swarm of Judges in formation around Tumultu and two other regal looking men, wading in a puddle of the liquid from the disembodied Nhar’Jusk’s tank, signaling his demise.
Tumultu himself had altered his appearance. Gone were the imposing horns that had once adorned his pauldrons and gauntlets and various other pieces of armor. Instead, the pauldrons rose even higher above his brow, framing his pale face against the stark obsidian of the metalwork and ornate inlays of gold and jewels that glittered even in the mechanical lights of his surroundings. Behind his head, attached to the back of his armor, was a grand arch of gold, decorated with several small faces in various expressions of emotions, lending a halo-like quality to his presence. Hanging from his hips over his armor was a robe-like garment, of similar material of that of his cloak. Several independent strips of cloth hung down to his ankles, their tips adorned with gold and jewels. And hanging out midway down from his pauldrons were large sleeves fitted over his protective armor or the same solid grey cloth, from which the same imposing, spiked fists of claw-like fingers emerged. All in all, the changes to his armor lent a more regal quality to the man, at once seeming imposing in a different way, but also more welcoming.
“Hath thou come to save poor Nhar’Jusk?” the Emperor said tauntingly, pointing a finger savagely at the fallen brain of the truly dead president. “I’m afraid thou didst tarry far too long.”
Enraged, Taran strode forth, saber in hand threateningly. Immediately, Galbradi leapt into action, his spear-like weapon coming down in its single form upon the boy’s head. “Taran!” Luxord cried out, bringing the flat of his blade up to parry the Magister’s blow. He could not have saved the human in time, though, if the elf had not faltered at the sound of the name. At once, he mis-stepped in mid-stride, unwilling to deal the fatal blow.
When Luxord now opposed the demonic guise of the Judge’s helmet, he again took full control of himself, engaging the samurai in combat for a short while. He would have shortly outmatched his opponent, if it had not been cut short.
“Enough, Galbradi,” Mordred commanded, raising an open palm. “Today is not a day for shedding blood.”
With reluctance, the elf backed down, retreating to his master’s side, weapon still drawn. A while, he gazed upon Taran. The boy could not help but feel animousity from those black eyes, as if some unearthly creature was viewing him with hatred. But rather, it was tenderness that Galbradi looked down with.
Taran? How could it be so? Enduras had been tasked with keeping him safe. How could he be here, in the middle of the conflict? Enduras was a man of honor, no? But my, how the boy has grown. Far paler than his people, to be sure, but look at those muscles. He’s not unfamiliar with the handle of a blade. But how is it he would have met his demise at the end of mine own? Could Enduras have-yes, that’s the only explanation. Enduras defied me, plunged an innocent into a conflict that was not his. Such a thing was monstrous. Monstrous! And Tumultu! How will he react? Surely he knows, surely he knows that I saved one… My daughter… My gods, what will he do to her for my disobedience?! No… No… If he knew, he would have acted… He is yet in the dark. She is safe. But Taran… Taran is the opposite of safe. And it’s Enduras’ fault… He must pay… He will pay, at the end of my sword, no less. Such is my task; to bring judgement down upon the wicked.
“On to business,” Tumultu said almost cheerily. Two Judges broke ranks and began tapping their fingers on various buttons upon dashboards in the wall, with some unknown purpose in mind. After some time of this, the eye-stalk-like camera that hung from the ceiling leered at Tumultu’s face, which appeared on the large screen of the room, and on all of the Nhar’Jusk company screens, doubtlessly cutting whatever entertainment they had short.
“Malagath people,” he began, addressing his viewers as a whole. “I interrupt thee to inform that thou shalt not be returning to thy dream pods again. Not for a long while, anyways. Thou didst see what horrors Ilgathar rained upon thee, thinking a new era of prosperity was upon thee. It was an illusion, a trick of the Nhar’Jusk Company. Their guile would have thee trapped in a hellish world of torture with no escape, believing in a lie so that they may reap the weaning harvests of thy beautiful, but dying world. Where they promised peace, they gave the madness. Where Ilgathar promised benevolence, he rained visions of horror upon thee. Now I have come to liberate thee from thy induced slumber. For too long hath thou been a farm for Ilgathar, letting him grow fat and drunk on thy dreams until he no longer needed thee, and sent thee into nightmare.
“Not even his greatest priests and messengers were let in on the truth; nay, only Nhar’Jusk was in one it, conspiring with Ilgathar so as to keep reality for himself. He hath met his timely end, as this world does. Now I, Lord Tumultu of the Eludinari Empire, extend an invitation in the midst of thy liberation. Come, join myself and my Judges in our return to Illaniar, where thou mayst enjoy a true utopia, one in reality, one that thou canst see and hear and touch without the burden of dreams, without the selfish intents of a company driven by profit. Thou art free to decline, of course. None shalt force thee to come with us to a brave new world.
“Now, thou doth face a choice. Shalt thou go with thy liberators, to live with dignity in a true reality, or stay behind to salvage what little thou canst from thy broken world? Resources run thin; services can sustain only so many people who remain. I implore thee; join us, to a world where all that thou couldst need or want shalt be provided for thee. A place where thou shalt be equals with all, from the newborn babe to even thy rulers. I leave it up… to thee.”
The Judges tapped a few more times on the keys, and the eyestalk retracted back up into the ceiling, never to be seen. Without so much as a second glance, the Emperor whirled around and left his opponents amid the ruins of their utterly shattered plans, his ensemble at his heels.
“How could things have gone so wrong?” Taran questioned, anger building up inside him. He half wanted to rush out and attempt to assault Tumultu again, in spite of his near-death experience.
“He let us think we had outsmarted him,” Salvar said angrily, slamming a gloved fist against the wall. “He let us make the people think Ilgathar was on their side, then took our lie and twisted it to his own purpose.”
“I warned you about using deception to win their hearts,” Luxord said matter-of-factly. “I suppose it was inevitable.”
“Gee, that’s reassuring Luxord,” the teen commented dryly.
“Do not give into despair, Taran,” the samurai berated, with mild irritation in his voice. “That is exactly what he wants for us to do. Those who despair cannot surmount that which instills it.”
“He’s right, y’know,” Arianna said tersely. “I don’t like losing these people to the Eludinari block-heads, but there’s nothing we can do now, so no use moping about it.”
“We have much more to do as it is,” Salvar said, opening a portal in the wall, again a familiar mass of swirling Darkness. “We cannot do any more for them.”
“Where to, then?” Arianna questioned, her curiosity piqued.
“Taiurula,” Salvar replied. “We already have an agent there to help us. With luck, we should be able to keep them from joining the Empire.” This said, the group stepped within the gateway, traveling between worlds…
“I sssssaw you in that nightmare,” the Malagath shrieked accusingly, pointing a finger at Tumultu as he was about to retreat through one of his own numerous portals that dotted the labyrinthine corridors. “You will never convincccccce me to leave my friendsssss, my home, or Ilgathar!”
“Why you filthy, scaly-“ a Judge began as he strode threateningly towards the dissenting snake-woman, spear raised above his head. As he brought his weapon down upon her head, though, it was not upon scales the metal came down upon, but instead clattered against the metal breastplate of his Emperor, harmlessly glancing off. “M-my Lord!”
“We hath come as liberators, not conquerors,” Mordred said chillingly, grabbing the shaft of the spear in his hand and snapping it in two. “Thou art unfit for duty if thou canst not greet the victims with open arms and open heart.” As he said this, he unleashed a mental strike upon his disobedient soldier, sending his armored form into a slump on the ground, unconscious.
“He shalt awake with a severe migraine,” the Emperor said, leaning towards Alister. “See to it that he is sent to the front lines.”
“It shall be done, my lord,” the Magister said dutifully. With little effort, he hauled up the man’s fallen form and slung him over his shoulder, bearing him back to Illaniar for demotion. The crisis thus averted, the Emperor returned to his throne, to assume his usual duties once more…
“Tea, m’Lord?” Jeeves said as usual, beginning to offer a cup of steaming tea for his Emperor. He had been at this task for a few weeks non-stop, with the answer always being a polite “No, thank thee, Jeeves.” So used to this response was he that he already began to bear the platter with a complete set for tea time away.
“Now that I think of it…” the Eludinari mused, his voice wavering. “I think I shalt accept thy offer.”
So stunned was the servant that at first he thought he had misheard. But being a well-trained butler, he did not inquire as to whether he heard correctly, merely handing his lord the cup. Together they were, above the clouds of Illaniar, one standing with a tray for tea, the other sitting upon a throne, occasionally sipping from his cup and sighing as if all were right in his universe…
< Message edited by Mordred -- 10/23/2012 22:26:30 >
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