Post by Chanticleer on Aug 8, 2020 21:11:46 GMT -5
Excerpt from a History of the Everywhere War, by the scholar Relvinian:
“ ... some are still suspicious about what really happened inside Castle Britannia’s throne room.
According to the two survivors, both of whom emerged as venerated heroes (and one of them as a queen), Lady British was actually an imposter, and never really Lord British’s daughter. The red ruby that enabled her to rule over the kingdom was not given to her by the old King on his deathbed; it was, in fact, an heirloom belonging to her true family, whoever they might be.
The fate of that infamous artifact, now associated with her tyranny, is also unknown … ”
Without another word, Lady British grabbed the circular amulet around her neck, and she calmly touched the large ruby affixed at its center There was a silent explosion of magical force, and the entire throne room was blanketed in an eerie, red light.
The arm-wielding Order of Automata Emissary stood at the front of the group, and it was the first to be hit by the crimson wave. The construct’s mechanical form disintegrated instantly, and in its wake, there was only a metal head wearing a scornful expression. Goodie, Raeff, and Raven fared no better against the ruby; all three were knocked senseless onto the floor.
Only Chanticleer was unaffected. The moment he was struck by the energy, the symbols etched upon his armor responded. The four images representing the Titans of Pagan -- currents of air on his helmet, mountain peaks on his left platemail arm, a flame on the right gauntlet, and a crest of water on the left legging -- shimmered brightly as they deflected the gem’s attack, allowing the warrior to continue his march towards the queen on her royal dais.
“Stay back, Destroyer!” Lady British hissed angrily. She intensified her focus, but the power of the ruby could not repel his approach.
He patently ignored her and stepped onto the throne platform. “No.” With the Fist clenched in one hand, and his shield in front of him, Chanticleer narrowed his eyes at the queen. “I am not this Destroyer. I sought only to depart Everywhere, you were the one who trapped me here.”
She relaxed her grip on her amulet, and its flow of energies ceased. “I was forewarned of your treachery, and your actions today have only confirmed this.”
“By whom?!”
“Someone I am able to trust above all else.”
“This someone has deceived you.”
“Nay, Destroyer, for I was forewarned ... by myself.”
The warrior dismissed her revelation with a shake of his head. “Enough of your trickery. Forum Solum!” His entire body sparkled with blue light, and he swung his shield forward, bashing the queen square in the face. As the blow pushed her back onto her throne, he angled his weapon above her head.
Cradling her face, she pointed at him with her other hand and mumbled a small phrase, spitting blood as she did so. “An Ex Por!” Her paralysis magic seized him, interrupting the swing of his war axe. You may be immune to my ruby, but I still have other powers at my disposal.”
Unable to move, Chanticleer could only express his disapproval with a scowl. He was reminded of Emerald Town, when the druid Jenna kept him helpless, and he watched Conor Starfalcon die. Then there was his initial visit to the Infernal Path, when Jolicia prevented him from fighting for Celestia. If he survived this, he needed to prepare better against such attacks.
“Do the symbols of your armor protect you?” Lady British used the arms of the throne to steady herself. While her nose was not broken, numerous bruises began to form around it, and her lips were lacerated and bloody. “These are not like any I have encountered before.”
“An Ex Por!”
At first, the warrior guessed that she was renewing her spell.
“Kal Vas Flam!”
His eyes slowly blinked. Her hold was waning.
“Corp Por!”
It was not her casting; the queen was the target.
Indirectly behind the throne, a door-shaped section of the wall was missing, revealing the egress of a dark tunnel that led deeper into the stonework. Two figures stood at the threshold, a tall man wearing a hooded black robe, and a somewhat shorter woman dressed in red, most of her blonde hair covered by a fancy, feathered hat: Renthar and Jolicia. And Lady British lay supine on the dais, her lavish robes of purple and white still smoldering from their ambush.
“Nystel and his cohorts really were telling the truth,” the sorcerer’s strange eyes twinkled with delight. “Their little secrets led us right to her throne room.”
“Maybe we should’ve been nicer to them,” she shrugged.
“You’re too soft, Jo Jo. If those old fools wanted to be relevant, they could’ve acted against her before she stole the throne.” Renthar leaned down and removed the ruby-amulet from the neck of the dazed Lady British. He then raised it to his mouth, and as his tongue dragged across the gem’s surface, it crackled with miniature lightning. “Yes, it’s exactly perfect!”
Free to move again, Chanticleer resumed his aggressive posture. “Elaborate. Now!”
“How do we explain it to him?” Jolicia asked her partner. “That he’s just a distraction?”
“No, Jo Jo, how do we explain that?” The sorcerer directed their attention to the queen, who was stirring from the void of her unconsciousness.
Somehow, she was no longer that exemplary of womanly perfection, an elegance and grace that seemed a flight of fantasy, and, in many parts of her body, a distortion of physical possibility. Instead, she was now a man; youthful and unremarkable and gangly, yet with that same fair hair and too blue eyes possessed by Lady British. S/he had not been replaced, s/he was changed.
“I certainly didn’t see that coming,” Renthar offered them a strange smile.
“What have you done?!” The warrior’s dark eyes rendered angry judgment upon them.
“It won’t matter to you for much longer.” Before Chanticleer could react, the sorcerer licked his right index finger, and used it to trace an imaginary circle in the air. “An Vas Wis!”
A bolt of dark magic hurled forth and penetrated the warrior’s helm. Although it inflicted no obvious injuries, his head throbbed painfully, and his thoughts became scattered. “What ... ?”
“Kal Vas Rel Tym Por!!!” An unfamiliar presence suddenly manifested, invading his mind.
“Don’t you worry, not-my-boy-knight,” Renthar maintained his eerie grin. “You won’t recall any of this for quite awhile, and by my calculations, you’re about to be summoned.”
“Kal Vas Rel Tym Por!!!” The invisible voice repeated itself. “Kal Vas Rel Tym Por!!!”
In unison, the Titan seal fragments on his armor -- currents of air on his helmet, mountain peaks on his left platemail arm, a flame on the right gauntlet, and a crest of water on the left legging -- glimmered, their intensity increasing each moment until all four flashed brightly. “I dem -- ”
“Kal Vas Rel Tym Por!!!”
And then Chanticleer vanished in a burst of light, as if he was never there at all.
“Relthor actually did it!” The sorcerer cheerfully applauded. “Not only did he uphold his end of our bargain, he even found a way to make Faeryl useful.”
“We can celebrate later, there’s one more thing.” Jolicia motioned towards the throne.
The former Lady British crouched at its base, still covered in ill-fitting robes. His knees drawn up to his face, he cuddled himself tightly and sobbed uncontrollably. “No ... no ... no ... Lady British ... not Haxley.”
“You’re right, we wouldn’t want to neglect our fallen friend here,” Renthar nodded. “First, we alter memories, and then we’ll lock her away for good.” He repeated the arcane gesture he made at Chanticleer. “An Vas Wis!” His spell caused a similar effect in the conquered queen; mournful tears quickly dried into confusion.
“The fuck is this?!” The question startled them, and they spun around to face its speaker. Raeff, along with Raven and Goodie, had finally recovered from the ruby’s earlier attack. In his hands, the Mage-Lord cradled the metal head of the Automata Emissary, still alert and functioning despite its lack of a body. “What’d you do to John?!”
“Nay ta mention Lady British?!” The pirate added. “We kin fret over tha’ blue-armored cunt once we’ve killed ‘er.”
“You’ll have to ask the Empress about Chanticleer,” the sorcerer explained. “That’s more her game, not mine. As for the object of your un-affections, it might be difficult for you to believe, but she’s actually right -- ”
“Wait!” Jolicia interrupted him before he could finish. “She’s gone!” Everyone looked to the throne; the lanky figure in Lady British’s robes was nowhere to be found.
Renthar’s strange-eyed gaze shifted towards the entrance of the secret tunnel. “She must have fled down there. Quickly, Jo Jo, we might be able to catch her.”
“Nay.” Raven unsheathed both her rapier and dagger. “Ye ain’t doin’ shit til we’ve answers.”
The sorcerer countered with a loud, dramatic sigh and elevated the ruby amulet above his head. “This is mine now.” The gem at its center began to glow. “Lady British has been defeated, and if my plans go accordingly, you won’t hear from her or us ever again. So either you can enjoy your little victory, or you can waste everyone’s time with a fight you’ll most definitely lose.”
The pirate smirked uncomfortably and lowered her weapons. “Aye, yer right an’ yer right.”
Once Renthar and Jolicia had disappeared into the hidden passageway, Goodie nodded to Raven. “Things change and we always have to move forward.”
“Aye, an’ it’s fittin’ fer our plans.” She turned to Raeff, her expression noticeably grim. “We’ve a big choice ta make ‘ere. Lady British’s done, an’ there’s none ta stop us from claimin’ credit. Yer Alliance values strength above all, aye? Tha’s ‘ow Neville Holden was able ta take charge, aye? An’ far as they’ll it know, the four o’ us just won the whole fuckin’ war.’
The Mage-Lord raised two blue eyebrows. “Hold on. What are you trying to pull?”
“Why did ye think Buc’s Den an’ Vesper really stayed out o’ the war. The Alliance ain’t exactly known for its diplomacy.” Raven grinned. “Yer New Fawn Consortium's been holdin’ secret talks with my father an’ the Guild an’ other Britannian merchant interests for months now. We were never goin’ ta let the Alliance keep Britannia. Yer lot may be good at fightin’ an’ killin’, but yer absolute shit fer the economy. But if yer willin’ ta play along, Raeff, I kin promise ye a place o’ importance in the new order o’ things.”
Automata Emissary’s head responded first. “Flesh plotting against flesh, this is not a surprise, imperfection breeds treachery. Still, it would be prudent for the Mage-Lord to accept.”
“No fuckin’ way,” Raeff shook his head. “I’m Mage-Lord of the Moonshade Tactics Squad, not the head fancy-pants of the Twilight Juvenalia. We might enjoy killing shit, but we’re not -- ”
His defiance was cut short by the pirate’s blades and the mercenary’s sword. Three thrusts, one to the throat and two to the chest, and the blue-robed mage was dead before he fell onto the dais.
“Fer the best. He’s easily replaced, an’ he was ta cozy with Deniah fer our likin’.” Raven picked up the construct’s head from where it had rolled out of Raeff’s dying grasp. “Yer friend’s dead, it goin’ ta change yer choice any?”
“Perfection cannot befriend imperfection.” There was an almost imperceptible variance in its standard modulation. “The Alliance always favors the strong. This is you.”
“Glad ta hear it.” Holding the metal head like a play prop, she smiled at Goodie, who smiled at her in return. “So I’m wonderin’, which one o’ us gets ta be the new queen o’ Britannia?”
To Be Continued ...
“ ... some are still suspicious about what really happened inside Castle Britannia’s throne room.
According to the two survivors, both of whom emerged as venerated heroes (and one of them as a queen), Lady British was actually an imposter, and never really Lord British’s daughter. The red ruby that enabled her to rule over the kingdom was not given to her by the old King on his deathbed; it was, in fact, an heirloom belonging to her true family, whoever they might be.
The fate of that infamous artifact, now associated with her tyranny, is also unknown … ”
********
-- “Endgames” --
Without another word, Lady British grabbed the circular amulet around her neck, and she calmly touched the large ruby affixed at its center There was a silent explosion of magical force, and the entire throne room was blanketed in an eerie, red light.
The arm-wielding Order of Automata Emissary stood at the front of the group, and it was the first to be hit by the crimson wave. The construct’s mechanical form disintegrated instantly, and in its wake, there was only a metal head wearing a scornful expression. Goodie, Raeff, and Raven fared no better against the ruby; all three were knocked senseless onto the floor.
Only Chanticleer was unaffected. The moment he was struck by the energy, the symbols etched upon his armor responded. The four images representing the Titans of Pagan -- currents of air on his helmet, mountain peaks on his left platemail arm, a flame on the right gauntlet, and a crest of water on the left legging -- shimmered brightly as they deflected the gem’s attack, allowing the warrior to continue his march towards the queen on her royal dais.
“Stay back, Destroyer!” Lady British hissed angrily. She intensified her focus, but the power of the ruby could not repel his approach.
He patently ignored her and stepped onto the throne platform. “No.” With the Fist clenched in one hand, and his shield in front of him, Chanticleer narrowed his eyes at the queen. “I am not this Destroyer. I sought only to depart Everywhere, you were the one who trapped me here.”
She relaxed her grip on her amulet, and its flow of energies ceased. “I was forewarned of your treachery, and your actions today have only confirmed this.”
“By whom?!”
“Someone I am able to trust above all else.”
“This someone has deceived you.”
“Nay, Destroyer, for I was forewarned ... by myself.”
The warrior dismissed her revelation with a shake of his head. “Enough of your trickery. Forum Solum!” His entire body sparkled with blue light, and he swung his shield forward, bashing the queen square in the face. As the blow pushed her back onto her throne, he angled his weapon above her head.
Cradling her face, she pointed at him with her other hand and mumbled a small phrase, spitting blood as she did so. “An Ex Por!” Her paralysis magic seized him, interrupting the swing of his war axe. You may be immune to my ruby, but I still have other powers at my disposal.”
Unable to move, Chanticleer could only express his disapproval with a scowl. He was reminded of Emerald Town, when the druid Jenna kept him helpless, and he watched Conor Starfalcon die. Then there was his initial visit to the Infernal Path, when Jolicia prevented him from fighting for Celestia. If he survived this, he needed to prepare better against such attacks.
“Do the symbols of your armor protect you?” Lady British used the arms of the throne to steady herself. While her nose was not broken, numerous bruises began to form around it, and her lips were lacerated and bloody. “These are not like any I have encountered before.”
“An Ex Por!”
At first, the warrior guessed that she was renewing her spell.
“Kal Vas Flam!”
His eyes slowly blinked. Her hold was waning.
“Corp Por!”
It was not her casting; the queen was the target.
Indirectly behind the throne, a door-shaped section of the wall was missing, revealing the egress of a dark tunnel that led deeper into the stonework. Two figures stood at the threshold, a tall man wearing a hooded black robe, and a somewhat shorter woman dressed in red, most of her blonde hair covered by a fancy, feathered hat: Renthar and Jolicia. And Lady British lay supine on the dais, her lavish robes of purple and white still smoldering from their ambush.
“Nystel and his cohorts really were telling the truth,” the sorcerer’s strange eyes twinkled with delight. “Their little secrets led us right to her throne room.”
“Maybe we should’ve been nicer to them,” she shrugged.
“You’re too soft, Jo Jo. If those old fools wanted to be relevant, they could’ve acted against her before she stole the throne.” Renthar leaned down and removed the ruby-amulet from the neck of the dazed Lady British. He then raised it to his mouth, and as his tongue dragged across the gem’s surface, it crackled with miniature lightning. “Yes, it’s exactly perfect!”
Free to move again, Chanticleer resumed his aggressive posture. “Elaborate. Now!”
“How do we explain it to him?” Jolicia asked her partner. “That he’s just a distraction?”
“No, Jo Jo, how do we explain that?” The sorcerer directed their attention to the queen, who was stirring from the void of her unconsciousness.
Somehow, she was no longer that exemplary of womanly perfection, an elegance and grace that seemed a flight of fantasy, and, in many parts of her body, a distortion of physical possibility. Instead, she was now a man; youthful and unremarkable and gangly, yet with that same fair hair and too blue eyes possessed by Lady British. S/he had not been replaced, s/he was changed.
“I certainly didn’t see that coming,” Renthar offered them a strange smile.
“What have you done?!” The warrior’s dark eyes rendered angry judgment upon them.
“It won’t matter to you for much longer.” Before Chanticleer could react, the sorcerer licked his right index finger, and used it to trace an imaginary circle in the air. “An Vas Wis!”
A bolt of dark magic hurled forth and penetrated the warrior’s helm. Although it inflicted no obvious injuries, his head throbbed painfully, and his thoughts became scattered. “What ... ?”
“Kal Vas Rel Tym Por!!!” An unfamiliar presence suddenly manifested, invading his mind.
“Don’t you worry, not-my-boy-knight,” Renthar maintained his eerie grin. “You won’t recall any of this for quite awhile, and by my calculations, you’re about to be summoned.”
“Kal Vas Rel Tym Por!!!” The invisible voice repeated itself. “Kal Vas Rel Tym Por!!!”
In unison, the Titan seal fragments on his armor -- currents of air on his helmet, mountain peaks on his left platemail arm, a flame on the right gauntlet, and a crest of water on the left legging -- glimmered, their intensity increasing each moment until all four flashed brightly. “I dem -- ”
“Kal Vas Rel Tym Por!!!”
And then Chanticleer vanished in a burst of light, as if he was never there at all.
“Relthor actually did it!” The sorcerer cheerfully applauded. “Not only did he uphold his end of our bargain, he even found a way to make Faeryl useful.”
“We can celebrate later, there’s one more thing.” Jolicia motioned towards the throne.
The former Lady British crouched at its base, still covered in ill-fitting robes. His knees drawn up to his face, he cuddled himself tightly and sobbed uncontrollably. “No ... no ... no ... Lady British ... not Haxley.”
“You’re right, we wouldn’t want to neglect our fallen friend here,” Renthar nodded. “First, we alter memories, and then we’ll lock her away for good.” He repeated the arcane gesture he made at Chanticleer. “An Vas Wis!” His spell caused a similar effect in the conquered queen; mournful tears quickly dried into confusion.
“The fuck is this?!” The question startled them, and they spun around to face its speaker. Raeff, along with Raven and Goodie, had finally recovered from the ruby’s earlier attack. In his hands, the Mage-Lord cradled the metal head of the Automata Emissary, still alert and functioning despite its lack of a body. “What’d you do to John?!”
“Nay ta mention Lady British?!” The pirate added. “We kin fret over tha’ blue-armored cunt once we’ve killed ‘er.”
“You’ll have to ask the Empress about Chanticleer,” the sorcerer explained. “That’s more her game, not mine. As for the object of your un-affections, it might be difficult for you to believe, but she’s actually right -- ”
“Wait!” Jolicia interrupted him before he could finish. “She’s gone!” Everyone looked to the throne; the lanky figure in Lady British’s robes was nowhere to be found.
Renthar’s strange-eyed gaze shifted towards the entrance of the secret tunnel. “She must have fled down there. Quickly, Jo Jo, we might be able to catch her.”
“Nay.” Raven unsheathed both her rapier and dagger. “Ye ain’t doin’ shit til we’ve answers.”
The sorcerer countered with a loud, dramatic sigh and elevated the ruby amulet above his head. “This is mine now.” The gem at its center began to glow. “Lady British has been defeated, and if my plans go accordingly, you won’t hear from her or us ever again. So either you can enjoy your little victory, or you can waste everyone’s time with a fight you’ll most definitely lose.”
The pirate smirked uncomfortably and lowered her weapons. “Aye, yer right an’ yer right.”
Once Renthar and Jolicia had disappeared into the hidden passageway, Goodie nodded to Raven. “Things change and we always have to move forward.”
“Aye, an’ it’s fittin’ fer our plans.” She turned to Raeff, her expression noticeably grim. “We’ve a big choice ta make ‘ere. Lady British’s done, an’ there’s none ta stop us from claimin’ credit. Yer Alliance values strength above all, aye? Tha’s ‘ow Neville Holden was able ta take charge, aye? An’ far as they’ll it know, the four o’ us just won the whole fuckin’ war.’
The Mage-Lord raised two blue eyebrows. “Hold on. What are you trying to pull?”
“Why did ye think Buc’s Den an’ Vesper really stayed out o’ the war. The Alliance ain’t exactly known for its diplomacy.” Raven grinned. “Yer New Fawn Consortium's been holdin’ secret talks with my father an’ the Guild an’ other Britannian merchant interests for months now. We were never goin’ ta let the Alliance keep Britannia. Yer lot may be good at fightin’ an’ killin’, but yer absolute shit fer the economy. But if yer willin’ ta play along, Raeff, I kin promise ye a place o’ importance in the new order o’ things.”
Automata Emissary’s head responded first. “Flesh plotting against flesh, this is not a surprise, imperfection breeds treachery. Still, it would be prudent for the Mage-Lord to accept.”
“No fuckin’ way,” Raeff shook his head. “I’m Mage-Lord of the Moonshade Tactics Squad, not the head fancy-pants of the Twilight Juvenalia. We might enjoy killing shit, but we’re not -- ”
His defiance was cut short by the pirate’s blades and the mercenary’s sword. Three thrusts, one to the throat and two to the chest, and the blue-robed mage was dead before he fell onto the dais.
“Fer the best. He’s easily replaced, an’ he was ta cozy with Deniah fer our likin’.” Raven picked up the construct’s head from where it had rolled out of Raeff’s dying grasp. “Yer friend’s dead, it goin’ ta change yer choice any?”
“Perfection cannot befriend imperfection.” There was an almost imperceptible variance in its standard modulation. “The Alliance always favors the strong. This is you.”
“Glad ta hear it.” Holding the metal head like a play prop, she smiled at Goodie, who smiled at her in return. “So I’m wonderin’, which one o’ us gets ta be the new queen o’ Britannia?”
To Be Continued ...