Black Crusade

Chapter Ten - Tarken! Hear the wails!

The colossal being turns from Fairi and stares at the fresh wreckage of the black citedel's wall. It sighs "It is a shame- my time; is not quite aligned. Bye bye little elf." 

Fairi before he could utter a lisp of a word, the air collapses where the giant was: creating a screeching noise with a rumble. "Ahh shit! In fuck; Carrus! Sapphire!" Fairi yells, he can feel it... he soiled himself a little besides that, he runs toward the wreckage. Repeating the words and his comrades names in various order. After searching for around about two minutes he turns to the very very few left of their original party- "Mind helping you bunch of backstabbing cowards!?" it was rhetorical, he is the acting commanding officer. They run over as if their lifes depended on it, from Fairi's share of quick and concise pain on this journey compared to their's: he would gut them if they said no, maybe laugh a little as the sanity withdrawn.

Two work on smothering the flames with water, with what little supply barrels that were left un-obliterated. Another two help Fairi by moving the chunks of metal and stone, the final one works between both groups by acting as a scout and messenger. The time was still uncertain, they sky was thick with fume and ashen elements making it hard to see if dawn had already passed. What seemed like a few hours passed, the found remnants of soot guards, a leg or several other gore scenes. Fari was getting restless and agitated. 

"AHHHH! Damnit! Damn it all, why has everything gone wrong!? How and why gods!" he yells to the red sky. He fell upon his knees as he begins to cry to himself the tears digging small channels from the black dirt on the elf's face. "Our leaders are dead... Araneas, Carrus... we even let a civilian die on our part! How can we call ourselves Black Templars at all..." he says before succumbing to a fit of un-adultered anger at his own incompetence. Smashing his once soft hands against many pieces of rubble the become calloused and bruise: he uses his feet instead. He kicks a piece of metal sheeting, it doesn't fall over- he responds by kicking it more and more until his feet gave up. Fairi falls into the metal sheet with wet-teary headbutt, his forehead slides down the metal as he goes into a slumped position. Crying he gently bumps his head against the metal again.

Clang-bump-bump... The sound came from the metal sheet. Fairi lifts his head off the sheet. The noise repeats... 

Fairi scrambles to his feet, they are weak, wobbly. "Hello!?" he yells making the small corner falling as he does. He lands on his shoulder with a thump, his eyes close instinctively from the impact. Slowly he opens them, seeing the familiar helmet and the dirtied and torn white cross. A little girl protected by a knight, no a Templar. Fairi smiles, "I- eh I found you. Say something?" he says trying to sit up. Carrus replies with a low whine. "Shhh, I think I need a healer..." he says after, looking down to the girl who seems slightly scratched but is overall in better condition than the concerning commander and the elf. 

"Ther- Something happened, I can't-can't explain it; a energy. It is beyond words Fairi..." 

Carrus says turning his head, the eyeslots dead center on his comrade. "It scares me..." 

Cough, cough; wince.

His head goes limp and so does his arm that rested upon the girl Sapphire, gently it descended to the ground. Fairi scuttles to his hand grabing it before it falls upon the ashen ground, placing it firmly back onto Carrus. "Don't worry leader, I shall make sure you arrive safely home."

Sapphire seems soundly asleep, like a lamb protected by its shepard. The elf feels unworthy to take her from his commanding officer but there is no other way to carry them. Fairi's bones and muscle ache as he picks the girl up. Wincing a few times, he finally has her solidly in his arms. He yells to the remnant templars for a wheelbarrow or anything. They must bring someone home atleast.

The others manage to find a rickety cart, seems not for military transport.

 "Good, one of you help me move the captain to this." Fairi orders, bring Fairi over to the cart and placing her upon it. He rushed back checking behind himself, to see if Sapphire might wake up and explain what disaster had unfurrled before them: as he himself was unsure other than a monster of unbelievable might could have crossed their path on a whim. He lingers the thought as he returns to Carrus. The few harsh breaths that escape the strict great helm bring assurance he is still alive. No time is wasted as he and his fellow templar grab him from opposing ends, picking up the weight accordingly they shimmy past debris and hurry him to the cart. Fairi takes the responsiblity of loading him unto the cart with due care. Both of the unconscious lay fair distance from one another. 

The elf: worn, distressed and confused did as best he could to re-organise. Still armed and prepared to fight banditry they still stood a distance from Tarken...

"This will be war. I don't care about the consquences, we were ambushed. The Black Citedel will be held accountable for it's actions rest assured." Fairi proclaims to his fellows and Carrus. Silently in his mind he ushered the damnation of who plotted to kill Araneas.

This will be my undertaking I promise you Araneas- you were a good leader; and a even better friend.

Again all was taken and all must be avenged. The clotted sky begins to clear, a good sign to move. The band with naught else reason to remain flee the savage destruction.

Meanwhile Elsewhere...

Deep within the walls of Alto, the city of wealth. The king laments, mourning over the loss of his son: the kingdom and himself. He cries over the sarcophagus, now he has fallen under the web of his greatest fears. Peace reigned under his rule for 60 long years but now... 

The shadows have arisen seeking to consume all. The king's pure blood stains the marble of the tomb, struggling to catch the air of his assassin. He flings his sword across the hall. 

"I will pass! *cough* It was guarenteed enough... but my soul, my, my spirt will carry on through the people and- It will never fall fully into your hands!" The king yells his hand loosening upon the tomb, sliding down his last breath escapes his lips.

The royal guard arrive shortly after, they rush to king but it was all to late. A cloaked figure slips from the room past the open doors. The fall of the peaceful king Lendryus. Within minutes the council of advisors is in a uproar, the people throw their roses to the palace and wish the king a restful eternity. Lendryus has been assassinated. A long posted emissary from the neighbouring kingdom Alta; a sorcerer of some power sat amongst the council: they debated the future of the kingdom and of the foul conspiracy against the king.

He stood up as the chair councilor calls his name. "Selevius? Speak please you are a member of this council also." 

His blue robes and his staff stood him out from the usual dressed councilor. "Sire, I do believe- as I am omitted from such a serious trifle of power might recommend that we do not hastily replace the king or find a suiter for his only daughter. It is much wiser to allow the royalty to revive itself, we must protect the kingdom from invasion afterall."

Several of the other councilors agree however a large volley of retort is returned. Selevius prides himself a loyalist to the old king, and he can already see the battlelines being drawn between his fellow loyalists and the other parties forming.

This is most troublesome... It is not within my authority to control to masses or muster any guard or soldier. However if I can message the order perhaps they can guide the people untill all is restored.

Selevius  does a mandatory gesture, raising ones hand and bowing: to show he wishes to be dismissed. The chair councilor grants it to him and quickly he departs to a messaging tower to send a crow to Alto's Council of Sorcerers with a report and a request to them. It may take several days but Selevius feels he has done the best he can without getting magic involved.

Only time will bear fruits of what has transpired this day.  Meanwhile our perilous, worn and scorned heroes return again to their journey; to Tarken, the citedel of the Templar.