Part 1 ? I am God-Emperor
She held her hands within her mane of dirty blonde hair, her red eyes stared at the ground as the groans of the dying mixed with the buzz of the flies.
Why did she do this? Why did Renna destroy everything she worked so hard to create? Why did she have to take down Zarcurgis and all of its people down with her to a twisted, self obsessed level?!
Why?!
Lucy turned to look away from the twitching leg of the recently past, while the cries of his family huddled over the battered corpse rung stabbing against her ears. She was to rule this? She was to manage a dying kingdom?!
"Why did they bring me back..." She wept, her knees giving way as she collapsed onto the ground, kneeling there before rows of the dead, as far as the eye could see. "I... I don't want to see this."
Thousands, upon thousands... And with Zarcurgis erased from reality itself, taking her brothers and sisters, even Renna along with it to who knows what limbo, they now had no where to live. Nowhere to call home.
Nothing.
Composure was what she needed, and even as her heart sank into the mud along with her knees, she pushed back against the heavy sorrow that sucked the tears out from her eyes. "I can't let her defeat me. I... I will not show her, the satisfaction that she, almost destroyed us all... No." She clenched her fists tightly, her teeth biting into her lower lip, as she turned to regard her people.
She lifted her voice so that could be carried across the field, "My name, was Lueretta Ravenlock Egorwrath, Princess of Zarcurgis, General of the Dark Militia!"
Elven heads turned, many standing, others leaning up from their death's bed at the call of their Princess.
"The God-Emperor," she could not deny her people the faith they had been brain-washed into. Despite how much she loathed it, she had to continue to decieve them, "And the God-Queen are dead. The Darkness as spoken by the Oracle, had come, and now we stand alone, discarded from our paradise land of Zarcurgis, to this lowly ground."
She shook from head to toe, as anger filled her. Lying to their bloodied faces. Lying to them all just so she could keep their hopes alive... It brought more tears to her face, "I too perished along with our Gods, but I have been reborn and I will save us from True Death... My name, was Lueretta Ravenlock Egorwrath, and now, I am God-Emperor... And I will save us."
__________________________________________________ __
Part 2 - Destination
She offered pain relief where she could. But the camp was nothing more than an over stated morgue than a place of safety and healing. Daily, pyres were built of bodies, and burnt ritualistically with Lucy heading the flame herself, despite the terror quaking within her soul each time she witnessed the flames consume tiny and young bodies.
The stench of burning flesh and scolding bones stuck to her for days. She washed more than eight times a day to rid herself of the vile odour, but still, it persisted. It took a week for it to fade away, long after the dead were offered to the ashes as per the requests of the families, directly to the God-Emperor herself.
A mere two-hundred-something survived, out of thousands, most of which were injured, crippled or shell-shocked.
It took many hours of arrangement with the remaining soldiers of the Dark Militia that had survived the fall of Zarcurgis; a force of no more than twenty strong to create carts for a mode of transportation for her rag-tagged broken-kingdom, while other more able civilians went off into the wilderness to capture wild horses to tame.
They had to move, and she knew it had to be done soon, or Malice and her forces would find them. She could sense that marionette monster drawing ever closer, and it scared her to think what she would do to the people if she caught up with them.
The operation was rushed, and while she left not one living soul behind, there was one, however, she refused to let go.
A white sheet covered his corpse, and no matter how much she had slowed the decay of his flesh, his soul barely clung onto this world. She was generally surprised how much resistance he put up against the inevitability of True Death, and something, always kept her smiling, even when he could not speak to her; to tell her everything was alright, or to whisper how much he loved her...
"Captain..." She moved down, picking up the lightly weighted Elf easily in her arms, cradling him close to her body. "Thank you, for saving me... I know you can hear me, and, my powers are still not fully returned but, when they do, I promise you'll rise again. I just want to hear you laugh, like you used to... Come on, Captain, let's go."
Standing to her feet, she turned with the body wrapped up in that bloodstained sheet, and walked towards the departing caravans that was heading to the last place on this world that could possibly offer her people safty.
A Dark Militia soldier flanked his God-Emperor, still bearing the crystalline spear that he had managed to cling on to during the disaster of their homeland. "Scout reports nothing behind us."
Lucy's eyes darkened into a violent red. "Thank you, keep me posted on any sightings. We don't want them to ambush us."
"Of course, God-Emperor," the Elf bowed his head, "Where are we headed?"
Clenching her teeth, Lucy's clutch to the Captain tightened. "New Lysander."
__________________________________________________ __
Part 3A ? The Faceless Army
The Mannequin Army lurched from tree to tree with an inhuman and quite the animalistic lunge. Hurtling through the air, making not a sound as wooden bodies hopped from branch to neighboring branch.
All manner of weapons were built into the wooden bodies, from juttering scythes to thin spikes, and from swords to repeating arm-mounted crossbows. But there was one who stood out from the rest ? a single perfect design of her nations ability to fashion machines with the aid of magic and steam.
Malice, elegant and feminine, though very much a walking doll, had features of flesh built into her body, making her appear more human for the times that she needed to infiltrate other Kingdoms.
She dropped to the ground landing both on hands and feet, her synthetic body turning and twisting in all unnatural angles, so that she could stand with her hands upon her hips; her blue eyes gazing out to the tracks of horse and cart that recently scraped across the forest the floor.
"They're close!" She whispered, "To think this day would come, Cousin, where I would be able to enjoy plucking out your eyes!" Malice stepped forward, and with a push from the ground, launched herself high into the treetops.
At the most highest point, there she could see the churn of dust, and the moving dots of a long line of caravans traveling out into The Great Wastelands, formerly known as the Kingdom of Lysander. She knew where they were headed now.
Malice's tongue licked about her pale white lips. With a raise of her arm, she proclaimed with an excited glee to the Wooden Army below, "Rip them to pieces! But leave the Princess to me! I want to play with her some before I kill her."
__________________________________________________ __
Part 3B - Ambush
"... Good thing I brought this along." The Dark Militia soldier, glad in his black armors, turned to his similarly armored and helmed friend, offering a snake-skin container of red wine he had saved from the fall of Zarcurgis. "Want some, Brother?"
The helmed soldier shook his head, "If the General knew you were drinking while on duty, you would be flayed until your skin were torn off from your back."
"Pfft, he died, you know. Now there's only the God-Emperor." He shrugged his shoulders, drinking down the wine all to himself. Wiping his lips, he sighed, turning his eyes to harsh clear skies and the burning suns. "... One whole days worth of travel in this forsaken land. I can't take much more of this."
A gruff reply came from his helmed companion, sharply shoving him in the arm, "Stop your complaining. We're supposed to be watching the convoy's back." He indicated with his gauntlet to the caravans some distance in front of them.
"Please, who in their right mind would want to attack someone in the middle of nowhere? Besides, look," he indicated all around him with a swing of his hands, "You can see practically for miles around and I don't see a damned thing that could possible warrant us being this far from the convoy."
"Are you going against the order of our God-Emperor?!" The helmed man bellowed, drawing his sword, "You will return to your post and you will shut up and do you fucking job." With the zeal pouring from his voice, the helmed Dark Militia soldier took little account to his companion's alarmed face.
Two Mannequins hurtled into the air ? seemingly coming from the ground itself some distance behind them. They came down towards them both, and with the juttering scythes protruding out from both of their wooden bodies, it took little effort to slice the helmed soldier into four uneven pieces.
Once they had landed amongst the chopped up gore of flesh, their faceless heads turned to their next identified target.
The final scout turned, moving to grab up the horn at his side rather than the sword, and he blew as hard as he could to raise the alarm, and so that the sound resonated throughout the eerie quietness of the wasteland a good few seconds before his head was cleaved from his shoulders.
She held her hands within her mane of dirty blonde hair, her red eyes stared at the ground as the groans of the dying mixed with the buzz of the flies.
Why did she do this? Why did Renna destroy everything she worked so hard to create? Why did she have to take down Zarcurgis and all of its people down with her to a twisted, self obsessed level?!
Why?!
Lucy turned to look away from the twitching leg of the recently past, while the cries of his family huddled over the battered corpse rung stabbing against her ears. She was to rule this? She was to manage a dying kingdom?!
"Why did they bring me back..." She wept, her knees giving way as she collapsed onto the ground, kneeling there before rows of the dead, as far as the eye could see. "I... I don't want to see this."
Thousands, upon thousands... And with Zarcurgis erased from reality itself, taking her brothers and sisters, even Renna along with it to who knows what limbo, they now had no where to live. Nowhere to call home.
Nothing.
Composure was what she needed, and even as her heart sank into the mud along with her knees, she pushed back against the heavy sorrow that sucked the tears out from her eyes. "I can't let her defeat me. I... I will not show her, the satisfaction that she, almost destroyed us all... No." She clenched her fists tightly, her teeth biting into her lower lip, as she turned to regard her people.
She lifted her voice so that could be carried across the field, "My name, was Lueretta Ravenlock Egorwrath, Princess of Zarcurgis, General of the Dark Militia!"
Elven heads turned, many standing, others leaning up from their death's bed at the call of their Princess.
"The God-Emperor," she could not deny her people the faith they had been brain-washed into. Despite how much she loathed it, she had to continue to decieve them, "And the God-Queen are dead. The Darkness as spoken by the Oracle, had come, and now we stand alone, discarded from our paradise land of Zarcurgis, to this lowly ground."
She shook from head to toe, as anger filled her. Lying to their bloodied faces. Lying to them all just so she could keep their hopes alive... It brought more tears to her face, "I too perished along with our Gods, but I have been reborn and I will save us from True Death... My name, was Lueretta Ravenlock Egorwrath, and now, I am God-Emperor... And I will save us."
__________________________________________________ __
Part 2 - Destination
She offered pain relief where she could. But the camp was nothing more than an over stated morgue than a place of safety and healing. Daily, pyres were built of bodies, and burnt ritualistically with Lucy heading the flame herself, despite the terror quaking within her soul each time she witnessed the flames consume tiny and young bodies.
The stench of burning flesh and scolding bones stuck to her for days. She washed more than eight times a day to rid herself of the vile odour, but still, it persisted. It took a week for it to fade away, long after the dead were offered to the ashes as per the requests of the families, directly to the God-Emperor herself.
A mere two-hundred-something survived, out of thousands, most of which were injured, crippled or shell-shocked.
It took many hours of arrangement with the remaining soldiers of the Dark Militia that had survived the fall of Zarcurgis; a force of no more than twenty strong to create carts for a mode of transportation for her rag-tagged broken-kingdom, while other more able civilians went off into the wilderness to capture wild horses to tame.
They had to move, and she knew it had to be done soon, or Malice and her forces would find them. She could sense that marionette monster drawing ever closer, and it scared her to think what she would do to the people if she caught up with them.
The operation was rushed, and while she left not one living soul behind, there was one, however, she refused to let go.
A white sheet covered his corpse, and no matter how much she had slowed the decay of his flesh, his soul barely clung onto this world. She was generally surprised how much resistance he put up against the inevitability of True Death, and something, always kept her smiling, even when he could not speak to her; to tell her everything was alright, or to whisper how much he loved her...
"Captain..." She moved down, picking up the lightly weighted Elf easily in her arms, cradling him close to her body. "Thank you, for saving me... I know you can hear me, and, my powers are still not fully returned but, when they do, I promise you'll rise again. I just want to hear you laugh, like you used to... Come on, Captain, let's go."
Standing to her feet, she turned with the body wrapped up in that bloodstained sheet, and walked towards the departing caravans that was heading to the last place on this world that could possibly offer her people safty.
A Dark Militia soldier flanked his God-Emperor, still bearing the crystalline spear that he had managed to cling on to during the disaster of their homeland. "Scout reports nothing behind us."
Lucy's eyes darkened into a violent red. "Thank you, keep me posted on any sightings. We don't want them to ambush us."
"Of course, God-Emperor," the Elf bowed his head, "Where are we headed?"
Clenching her teeth, Lucy's clutch to the Captain tightened. "New Lysander."
__________________________________________________ __
Part 3A ? The Faceless Army
The Mannequin Army lurched from tree to tree with an inhuman and quite the animalistic lunge. Hurtling through the air, making not a sound as wooden bodies hopped from branch to neighboring branch.
All manner of weapons were built into the wooden bodies, from juttering scythes to thin spikes, and from swords to repeating arm-mounted crossbows. But there was one who stood out from the rest ? a single perfect design of her nations ability to fashion machines with the aid of magic and steam.
Malice, elegant and feminine, though very much a walking doll, had features of flesh built into her body, making her appear more human for the times that she needed to infiltrate other Kingdoms.
She dropped to the ground landing both on hands and feet, her synthetic body turning and twisting in all unnatural angles, so that she could stand with her hands upon her hips; her blue eyes gazing out to the tracks of horse and cart that recently scraped across the forest the floor.
"They're close!" She whispered, "To think this day would come, Cousin, where I would be able to enjoy plucking out your eyes!" Malice stepped forward, and with a push from the ground, launched herself high into the treetops.
At the most highest point, there she could see the churn of dust, and the moving dots of a long line of caravans traveling out into The Great Wastelands, formerly known as the Kingdom of Lysander. She knew where they were headed now.
Malice's tongue licked about her pale white lips. With a raise of her arm, she proclaimed with an excited glee to the Wooden Army below, "Rip them to pieces! But leave the Princess to me! I want to play with her some before I kill her."
__________________________________________________ __
Part 3B - Ambush
"... Good thing I brought this along." The Dark Militia soldier, glad in his black armors, turned to his similarly armored and helmed friend, offering a snake-skin container of red wine he had saved from the fall of Zarcurgis. "Want some, Brother?"
The helmed soldier shook his head, "If the General knew you were drinking while on duty, you would be flayed until your skin were torn off from your back."
"Pfft, he died, you know. Now there's only the God-Emperor." He shrugged his shoulders, drinking down the wine all to himself. Wiping his lips, he sighed, turning his eyes to harsh clear skies and the burning suns. "... One whole days worth of travel in this forsaken land. I can't take much more of this."
A gruff reply came from his helmed companion, sharply shoving him in the arm, "Stop your complaining. We're supposed to be watching the convoy's back." He indicated with his gauntlet to the caravans some distance in front of them.
"Please, who in their right mind would want to attack someone in the middle of nowhere? Besides, look," he indicated all around him with a swing of his hands, "You can see practically for miles around and I don't see a damned thing that could possible warrant us being this far from the convoy."
"Are you going against the order of our God-Emperor?!" The helmed man bellowed, drawing his sword, "You will return to your post and you will shut up and do you fucking job." With the zeal pouring from his voice, the helmed Dark Militia soldier took little account to his companion's alarmed face.
Two Mannequins hurtled into the air ? seemingly coming from the ground itself some distance behind them. They came down towards them both, and with the juttering scythes protruding out from both of their wooden bodies, it took little effort to slice the helmed soldier into four uneven pieces.
Once they had landed amongst the chopped up gore of flesh, their faceless heads turned to their next identified target.
The final scout turned, moving to grab up the horn at his side rather than the sword, and he blew as hard as he could to raise the alarm, and so that the sound resonated throughout the eerie quietness of the wasteland a good few seconds before his head was cleaved from his shoulders.