Post by lee on Dec 3, 2018 22:31:41 GMT
Illusions Of Power
(Legion of Tyranny)
Part One
Orando 2986--
Banshee winds screamed through the high peaks of the Muirdok Mountains, bringing a chill to both body and soul. Vegetation at this height was sparse and even that seemed an affront to the harsh environment. Only one road dared brave the imposing pinnacles of black granite and wend its way upward from the valley below. Even more daring was the road's destination; Fortress Blaquwuulv, home of the Exiled Princess.
The fortress was as impressive and as foreboding as the mountain from which it was carved. From a distant peak—where the whole mountain was visible—the fortress appeared to have been built in the gaping maw of a great, angry canine. Towers extended from ceiling to floor of the opening, giving the appearance of massive beams holding the beast's mouth open. Though no openings were visible save the enormous wooden gates and cold iron portcullis that bit hard into the earth protecting them, the feeling of being observed was inescapable.
Lord Drazhel, a low noble and one of King Voxv's most trusted emissaries, adjusted the goggles covering his eyes and looked around. In addition to protecting his eyes from the elements, they were designed to let him see past all but the most powerful of illusions. The fact he still saw no openings but the main gates, made him question just how powerful the Exiled Princess had grown. His feeling of being watched was validated when the portcullis began to rise and one of the gates swung inward.
“Well, Bagris,” Lord Drazhel said to his coach driver. “It appears Her Highness has invited us in. We would do well to not keep her waiting.”
Bagris snapped the reins and the tala beasts started through the gate and into the courtyard beyond.
The courtyard was filled with statuary, works of art that rivaled anything in King Voxv's personal collection. As Lord Drazhel exited the carriage, he reached out and let the tips of his fingers brush one of the statues; if it wasn't real, then Her Highness' abilities were, indeed, formidable.
A contingent of guards stood waiting at attention. One stepped forward and spoke, “Her Highness bids you welcome. If you will follow me, I will escort you into her presence.”
Lord Drazhel glanced skyward as the remaining guards fell in behind him. He couldn't shake the feeling it was something he might never see again.
Part Two
The Exiled Princess sat on a great stone throne, looking every bit as regal as her parents. A silver crown held her hair—the color of moonlit snow on a winter's eve—back from her slender face. It fell over her shoulders, as well as down her back. Her deep purple gown trimmed in the soft fur of some unfortunate beast accentuated the curves of her body.
Lord Drazhel silently swore he had never seen a woman as lovely as Her Highness. Despite her status among the royal family, he bowed at the waist as though he were greeting her in her father's castle.
“You may rise.” Her voice was music, soft and soothing to his ears. “I am Princess Projectra.”
The king's emissary detected a hint of bitterness as she proclaimed her title. “It is a great honor to meet you,” he said.
“You lie,” the princess commented. “I know my name is anathema in my father's kingdom. You must have done something horrendous to be here now.”
“I have done nothing wrong, Your Highness,” he said. “Your father...”
“Has probably stolen your lands by now,” Projectra finished. “No, you poor fool; you were sent here for more than you realize.”
Lord Drazhel thought about what she said. He had lands, wealth, resources, but those were things the king had given him. Her words made no sense.
As he considered her words, Princess Projectra studied her guest. Lord Drazhel was tall and fairly well built for a man she guessed to be in his early fifties. His brown hair rested on the collar of his cloak, showing only a hint of gray at the temples. She knew her words were preposterous; she only said them to set him off-balance.
“So,” she said, drawing him back into the conversation. “For what reason has my father sent you?”
“He asked that I try to convince you to give up your designs on his throne,” the emissary told her.
“If he asks this,” she said, “then he must fear my success.”
“He fears he will lose you completely,” Drazhel said.
The princess glanced at the statues flanking her throne. The one to her left was large and bulky, appearing almost as if it were a beginners attempt at sculpting. The statue to her right was just the opposite. It looked as if the artist had painstakingly recreated every wrinkle of flesh and garment one could imagine.
“Do you honestly think my father fears losing me?” Princess Projectra asked. A decanter appeared in her right hand and she flung it against the wall. There was a crash that splattered drops of wine and shards of glass everywhere before they the floor, however, both wine and glass vanished. “If he truly feared losing me, he never would have exiled me.”
For but a moment—yet it was a fateful moment—Lord Drazhel forgot himself. “You tried to assassinate our king and queen, for the gods' sake,” he said, louder than he intended.
The Exiled Princess erupted from the seat of her throne. “It is my destiny to rule Orando,” she screamed, “and if those doddering old fools don't see that, then they need to be removed. All who oppose me must be removed!”
Before Drazhel could respond, Projectra spoke again. “Dag of Zwen, Blok of Dryad. Awaken and attend me.” The moment the command was given, the eyes of the statues snapped open.
The emissary took a step back. He recognized the names “Zwen” and “Dryad” and knew what he faced were not illusions, but sentient beings.
“For you, my queen,” the two beings said in unison.
As he moved, the “statue” Drazhel thought the more refined of the two began to take on a more human appearance, his stone skin appearing more flesh-like. With the transformation, from stone to flesh, the young alien also gained the speed of one unencumbered; he was on the king's emissary in a heart beat.
Drazhel managed to get his arms up and ward off a vicious blow to the head. Although the attack was swift, he knew his opponent—now human—was one he could handle and had it been one-on-one, he might have even been victorious. The creature from Dryad, however, was beyond his abilities, and once it entered the fight, the emissary would stand no chance.
As if on cue, the Dryadian struck. Drazhel managed to sidestep just in time, but his move opened him up to another attack from the one called Dag.
Fleshy arms wrapped around him and quickly became stone, pinning Drazhel's arms to his side. Blok of Dryad approached, his arm drawn back. He paused long enough to get confirmation from Projectra on what he was about to do. A nod from her set his arm in motion.
The emissary's breastbone and several ribs shattered from the impact as Blok drove his great stone fist through the man's chest. Most of his internal organs were crushed with that single blow.
Drazhel's eyes showed only the faintest hint of his fate before death took him. Dag reverted to his human form once again and let the crushed body of the emissary drop to the floor.
Projectra motioned for a couple of her more human guards to step forward. “Return Lord Drazhel to his carriage and instruct the driver to see him back to my father.”
The guards did as they were bid, leaving a trail of gore on the stone floor as they dragged the body away. Servants with rags and buckets emerged from alcoves in the throne room and began cleaning up all traces of Lord Drazhel's visit.
Blok and Dag were about to return to their places of vigil when the doors opened and two strangers entered.
Part Three
“Who are you to dare enter my kingdom uninvited?” Projectra demanded as she sat down on her throne.
“We come seeking an alliance,” the young man said. As he spoke, small wisps of flame accompanied his words. His build was not much, the flames indicated he had power beyond just the physical.
Intrigued, the Exiled Princess replied. “What need have I of alliances?” Her question was answered by the blue-skinned woman accompanying the fire-breather.
“You seek to rule your father's kingdom,” she said. “Why settle for a kingdom, or even a planet? Join us, and whole systems shall be under your thumb, including this one.”
Projectra thought about the possibilities while the woman continued.
“Whether you kill your family is of no concern to she who sent us, but wouldn't it be more satisfying to rule over those who exiled you and know they were the least of your subjects?”
Dag and Blok took their places beside the princess' throne.
“And what would you require of me?” she asked.
“Join us,” the young man said. “We are traveling the galaxy gathering our forces.”
“And how large are your “forces”?” she asked
“We are nearly a dozen,” the young man replied.
Princess Projectra leaned back on her throne and brought her hand up to her mouth. Rubbing her index finger against her lip, she considered their proposal. After sever seconds of silence, she spoke.
“No,” she said. “I shall not join you and leave my planet.”
Her guests looked at each other, not expecting to be rejected.
The princess continued. “At least for the moment. Once you have a greater force assembled, return to me and we shall discuss it further.”
Tasmia released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She wasn't sure how Ayla would react, but, at least, the princess offered them hope, and that was better than nothing.
Princess Projectra motioned for her guards. “Escort our guests to their ship,” she said, “and make certain their departure is safe.”
Once they were alone, Projectra spoke to Dag and Blok. “What do you think? Should we join them when they return?”
Neither of them responded.
“Regardless of our decision,” she assured them, “you both shall be at my side.”
Both gave her a slight nod, shifted their position, then Dag began to transform back into stone. Once his transformation was complete, Projectra spoke again.
“Let them gather an army. When they return, I shall kill their leader and become the queen of the entire universe.”
(Legion of Tyranny)
Part One
Orando 2986--
Banshee winds screamed through the high peaks of the Muirdok Mountains, bringing a chill to both body and soul. Vegetation at this height was sparse and even that seemed an affront to the harsh environment. Only one road dared brave the imposing pinnacles of black granite and wend its way upward from the valley below. Even more daring was the road's destination; Fortress Blaquwuulv, home of the Exiled Princess.
The fortress was as impressive and as foreboding as the mountain from which it was carved. From a distant peak—where the whole mountain was visible—the fortress appeared to have been built in the gaping maw of a great, angry canine. Towers extended from ceiling to floor of the opening, giving the appearance of massive beams holding the beast's mouth open. Though no openings were visible save the enormous wooden gates and cold iron portcullis that bit hard into the earth protecting them, the feeling of being observed was inescapable.
Lord Drazhel, a low noble and one of King Voxv's most trusted emissaries, adjusted the goggles covering his eyes and looked around. In addition to protecting his eyes from the elements, they were designed to let him see past all but the most powerful of illusions. The fact he still saw no openings but the main gates, made him question just how powerful the Exiled Princess had grown. His feeling of being watched was validated when the portcullis began to rise and one of the gates swung inward.
“Well, Bagris,” Lord Drazhel said to his coach driver. “It appears Her Highness has invited us in. We would do well to not keep her waiting.”
Bagris snapped the reins and the tala beasts started through the gate and into the courtyard beyond.
The courtyard was filled with statuary, works of art that rivaled anything in King Voxv's personal collection. As Lord Drazhel exited the carriage, he reached out and let the tips of his fingers brush one of the statues; if it wasn't real, then Her Highness' abilities were, indeed, formidable.
A contingent of guards stood waiting at attention. One stepped forward and spoke, “Her Highness bids you welcome. If you will follow me, I will escort you into her presence.”
Lord Drazhel glanced skyward as the remaining guards fell in behind him. He couldn't shake the feeling it was something he might never see again.
Part Two
The Exiled Princess sat on a great stone throne, looking every bit as regal as her parents. A silver crown held her hair—the color of moonlit snow on a winter's eve—back from her slender face. It fell over her shoulders, as well as down her back. Her deep purple gown trimmed in the soft fur of some unfortunate beast accentuated the curves of her body.
Lord Drazhel silently swore he had never seen a woman as lovely as Her Highness. Despite her status among the royal family, he bowed at the waist as though he were greeting her in her father's castle.
“You may rise.” Her voice was music, soft and soothing to his ears. “I am Princess Projectra.”
The king's emissary detected a hint of bitterness as she proclaimed her title. “It is a great honor to meet you,” he said.
“You lie,” the princess commented. “I know my name is anathema in my father's kingdom. You must have done something horrendous to be here now.”
“I have done nothing wrong, Your Highness,” he said. “Your father...”
“Has probably stolen your lands by now,” Projectra finished. “No, you poor fool; you were sent here for more than you realize.”
Lord Drazhel thought about what she said. He had lands, wealth, resources, but those were things the king had given him. Her words made no sense.
As he considered her words, Princess Projectra studied her guest. Lord Drazhel was tall and fairly well built for a man she guessed to be in his early fifties. His brown hair rested on the collar of his cloak, showing only a hint of gray at the temples. She knew her words were preposterous; she only said them to set him off-balance.
“So,” she said, drawing him back into the conversation. “For what reason has my father sent you?”
“He asked that I try to convince you to give up your designs on his throne,” the emissary told her.
“If he asks this,” she said, “then he must fear my success.”
“He fears he will lose you completely,” Drazhel said.
The princess glanced at the statues flanking her throne. The one to her left was large and bulky, appearing almost as if it were a beginners attempt at sculpting. The statue to her right was just the opposite. It looked as if the artist had painstakingly recreated every wrinkle of flesh and garment one could imagine.
“Do you honestly think my father fears losing me?” Princess Projectra asked. A decanter appeared in her right hand and she flung it against the wall. There was a crash that splattered drops of wine and shards of glass everywhere before they the floor, however, both wine and glass vanished. “If he truly feared losing me, he never would have exiled me.”
For but a moment—yet it was a fateful moment—Lord Drazhel forgot himself. “You tried to assassinate our king and queen, for the gods' sake,” he said, louder than he intended.
The Exiled Princess erupted from the seat of her throne. “It is my destiny to rule Orando,” she screamed, “and if those doddering old fools don't see that, then they need to be removed. All who oppose me must be removed!”
Before Drazhel could respond, Projectra spoke again. “Dag of Zwen, Blok of Dryad. Awaken and attend me.” The moment the command was given, the eyes of the statues snapped open.
The emissary took a step back. He recognized the names “Zwen” and “Dryad” and knew what he faced were not illusions, but sentient beings.
“For you, my queen,” the two beings said in unison.
As he moved, the “statue” Drazhel thought the more refined of the two began to take on a more human appearance, his stone skin appearing more flesh-like. With the transformation, from stone to flesh, the young alien also gained the speed of one unencumbered; he was on the king's emissary in a heart beat.
Drazhel managed to get his arms up and ward off a vicious blow to the head. Although the attack was swift, he knew his opponent—now human—was one he could handle and had it been one-on-one, he might have even been victorious. The creature from Dryad, however, was beyond his abilities, and once it entered the fight, the emissary would stand no chance.
As if on cue, the Dryadian struck. Drazhel managed to sidestep just in time, but his move opened him up to another attack from the one called Dag.
Fleshy arms wrapped around him and quickly became stone, pinning Drazhel's arms to his side. Blok of Dryad approached, his arm drawn back. He paused long enough to get confirmation from Projectra on what he was about to do. A nod from her set his arm in motion.
The emissary's breastbone and several ribs shattered from the impact as Blok drove his great stone fist through the man's chest. Most of his internal organs were crushed with that single blow.
Drazhel's eyes showed only the faintest hint of his fate before death took him. Dag reverted to his human form once again and let the crushed body of the emissary drop to the floor.
Projectra motioned for a couple of her more human guards to step forward. “Return Lord Drazhel to his carriage and instruct the driver to see him back to my father.”
The guards did as they were bid, leaving a trail of gore on the stone floor as they dragged the body away. Servants with rags and buckets emerged from alcoves in the throne room and began cleaning up all traces of Lord Drazhel's visit.
Blok and Dag were about to return to their places of vigil when the doors opened and two strangers entered.
Part Three
“Who are you to dare enter my kingdom uninvited?” Projectra demanded as she sat down on her throne.
“We come seeking an alliance,” the young man said. As he spoke, small wisps of flame accompanied his words. His build was not much, the flames indicated he had power beyond just the physical.
Intrigued, the Exiled Princess replied. “What need have I of alliances?” Her question was answered by the blue-skinned woman accompanying the fire-breather.
“You seek to rule your father's kingdom,” she said. “Why settle for a kingdom, or even a planet? Join us, and whole systems shall be under your thumb, including this one.”
Projectra thought about the possibilities while the woman continued.
“Whether you kill your family is of no concern to she who sent us, but wouldn't it be more satisfying to rule over those who exiled you and know they were the least of your subjects?”
Dag and Blok took their places beside the princess' throne.
“And what would you require of me?” she asked.
“Join us,” the young man said. “We are traveling the galaxy gathering our forces.”
“And how large are your “forces”?” she asked
“We are nearly a dozen,” the young man replied.
Princess Projectra leaned back on her throne and brought her hand up to her mouth. Rubbing her index finger against her lip, she considered their proposal. After sever seconds of silence, she spoke.
“No,” she said. “I shall not join you and leave my planet.”
Her guests looked at each other, not expecting to be rejected.
The princess continued. “At least for the moment. Once you have a greater force assembled, return to me and we shall discuss it further.”
Tasmia released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She wasn't sure how Ayla would react, but, at least, the princess offered them hope, and that was better than nothing.
Princess Projectra motioned for her guards. “Escort our guests to their ship,” she said, “and make certain their departure is safe.”
Once they were alone, Projectra spoke to Dag and Blok. “What do you think? Should we join them when they return?”
Neither of them responded.
“Regardless of our decision,” she assured them, “you both shall be at my side.”
Both gave her a slight nod, shifted their position, then Dag began to transform back into stone. Once his transformation was complete, Projectra spoke again.
“Let them gather an army. When they return, I shall kill their leader and become the queen of the entire universe.”