Strike the Emp-rer Back

{{Fiction
 * author=Lucas Hakken;
 * hasSetting=Moonlands
 * precededBy=Tropical Reign;
 * storyBody=Creeping slowly, Bazha moved with the grace of a stalking bagala. The Bograthians' attention was turned to the armored newcomer who had appeared in their midst. He had the look and bearing of a warrior of the Cald. A further distraction came from the sounds of battle within the Grove, where this strange newcomer’s ally was creating a terrible ruckus with that ridiculous idiot Korg. Bazha’s head still throbbed from where Korg had clobbered him.

From his perch within the dense foliage, he could see his people bound and spiritless, huddled in a mass in the clearing before him. Many of the green-skinned Magi were still groaning in discomfort from the huge explosion not a half hour ago. Bazha rubbed his swollen jaw while he crouched several paces from his captured comrades. Only a few of them noticed their old friend hiding in the bushes.

As Paradwyn’s only free warrior crept into the mass of his people, he met each of their looks with a calm nod. Turning to face Liriel, a question made itself evident in his taught face. Without a word, she swung her head sharply towards the Bograthians. Bazha followed the motion to find the answer to his question. Boria was on her knees next to the foul swampdwellers' Elder, hands tied behind her slender back. With a clenched jaw, he turned back to the bagala-trainer before his attention was stolen by a nod from Culla. She held up her tied hands, pointing once to her ringless fingers and once to a large pouch on Blygt’s belt.

Bazha took a few more careful steps, turning his eyes to the Bograthians again. The invaders were all in a semi-circle behind their Elder as she squared off with the armored Magi. Kneeling, he removed Liriel’s bindings in silence. She was possibly their most accomplished warrior, and he needed her help if his plan were to work. As he reached to give her the bagala ring from his own finger, she laid a hand gently on his. He was not surprised to see a sly grin grow on her face, revealing a twinkling animite ring held in her teeth.

"Don’t just sit there, CLOBBER HIM!" Korg roared at his busy Pyder.

Rayje dodged a barrage of rapidly appearing Vards, having to roll on his side to avoid their dagger-like stingers. Springing to his feet like a triggered Roustrap, Rayje forced some of his energy through an old ring. A shower of white sparks heralded the arrival of a glowing Stagadan, which glided gracefully into the Grove from a chaotic dream-sky. Motioning with his blazing sword, Rayje sent his new combatant swooping towards the All-High King just before ducking under the swiping claw of a drooling Slarnath.

Fortunately for Korg, his beleaguered Pyder had just dreamt up an Arboll Stalker in the path of his swooping assailant. The purplish Stalker swelled repulsively before popping into a rain of lavender ooze. Coated in the sickly somniplasm, the Stagadan crashed weakly to the floor before fading back into the Dream Plane.

"HA!" Korg’s outburst startled his Slarnath, who then lost track of Rayje long enough for the Magi to draw forth a spindly Speag that he had picked up while in the Weave.

Rayje backed against the wall of the grove, buying himself some time to thrust his empty hand into a pocket full of animite rings. Satisfied with whatever found its way into his grasp, he withdrew his hand and began to force the rings fully onto his fingers. Korg took note of this rearming, and began the painstaking process of remembering a really 'hurty' spell.

Throughout the chamber Dream Creatures clashed, bathing the natural room in even more prismatic light as animite shards littered the floor. Korg’s Pyder was frantically replenishing the warlord’s allies: so much so that it seemed to be channeling random Creatures from the farthest corners of Bograthain dreams. Soon Rayje began firing white-hot bolts of energy from his newly adorned fist, each blossoming into a ready ally as it struck the floor. First a Baldar, then a Magma Jile, and finally a pair of Weebos; all moving instantly to their master’s aid. It was all Rayje could do to match the Pyder’s fevered pace. And then Korg remembered something.

"I hope you’re 'fraid of the dark, Mr. Foofeyhair. 'Cause its about to get, um - really dark!" Grinning with self-satisfaction, Korg began pushing energy from his body in all directions. As the power left his skin it began to sap the light from the Grove, quickly swallowing Korg and his minions and then moving on to fill the entire chamber. Rayje’s eyes struggled against the darkness as bizarre rustling sounds filled the air.

C’mon, Sinder growled inwardly, what’s wrong with this thing?

Olabra was surrounded by a gaggle of gibbering Quidos, and was working a radiant mass of energy into a Hyren-like shape.

Sinder, however, was only holding a fist aloft. Occasionally a yellow spark danced around his finger, but there was no flash. No flash, no crackle, no Creature. Pushing every ounce of his essence down his arm and into his hand was beginning to exhaust the Calder. C’mon you blasted ring, I want my Dream - and I want it now! And yet nothing came but more rain.

Giggles began to erupt from the semi-circle of Magi behind Olabra. "Can’t even use a ring? "Who is this anyway? "Give 'im wot for, 'Lobra!"

Their jeers bit deep into Sinder’s soul. What are you doing here? He began to question himself as sweat began mixing with the rain running down his cheeks. How could you be so stupid? "Yeah, Rayje, I got the army - you go after that one guy."

Forcing his tight eyelids open, Sinder chanced a look at the mob that mocked him from behind a wall of nightmares. Olabra was still conjuring, and her cronies were still laughing. Wait, Sinder’s temper flared, ''they’re laughing at me? Laughing - at - ME?'' The fires of Cald burned in his belly as he redoubled his efforts with Rayje’s ring.

Olabra chuckled as the trembling youngster grasped his forearm with his other hand. "Do you need more time, child?"

With golden energy busting from Sinder’s eyes and flowing from the heavy ring, his answer was simple: "Nope." Thrusting his fist forward, Sinder loosed a beam of golden light and a clap of thunder. The force was so great that it knocked the young Calder back a few paces where he slid to a stop on his bottom, completely covered in mud. Standing before him was the ancient war machine of his mentor, lifting its massive foot from a rapidly disintegrating Swamp Hyren.

The Bograthians scattered from behind their Elder, surprised by the sudden and terrifying arrival of Rayje’s Construct. Many began marshalling Olabra’s now diminutive force, but others just backed away in fear. This was the opportunity that Bazha and Liriel were waiting for.

As Blygt stumbled backwards, a large purple Bagala knocked him from his feet. Struggling to discern what had just happened, he had no chance of stopping the smaller, scarlet Bagala from snatching the bulging pouch from his belt. Sitting up, the sucker-punched Bograthian watched the two great hunting beasts make wide circles as they returned to their masters. Bazha and Liriel stood proudly before a reconnoitered force of Paradans who were casting off their bondage and awaiting a pouch full of vengeance.

The light slowly beat back the darkness within the Grove, and Rayje soon found himself short of assistance. In fact, the only things left in his adjusting vision were the Paradise Gem, a guffawing Korg and a broad Pyder-fist streaking for his face. Disoriented by what just happened, Rayje only watched the distance close.

One after another, the Pyder’s blows struck home. A few steps ago the legendary hero had dropped his sword, a bladeless hilt once more, and he was rapidly becoming too punch-drunk to maintain his footing. As the panting Pyder withdrew to Korg’s side, Rayje fell face first to the floor.

"HOO - It sure is fun beatin' up ol’timers." Korg held his stomach as he laughed, but as the Pyder added its own snicker Korg’s face twisted angrily. He spun to face his dream creature’s victorious glare. "Next time you’d better pull yer own weight, or else!" He was waving his scepter over his head again, now leering at his own dream.

Finding his Pyder sufficiently reprimanded, Korg turned on his heel, and stomped directly to the Paradise Gem. With his back turned, he did not see Rayje begin to crawl across the floor.

Rayje’s eyes began to spill over with flickering energy as he tapped into long forgotten reserves of his own strength. Mumbling under his breath, the legend pulled himself painfully toward Korg. "The old one could not stop me and I will rot in the Core before I let you, Korg."

"Durnit Pyder, I’m tryin' to figure how to bash this!" Korg called back over his shoulder.

With a disturbed look on its face, the weary Pyder began tugging frantically at the All-High King’s cloak. The tugging turned to pawing as the Pyder watched in horror while Rayje slowly stood, scooping up the hilt lying next to him.

"Get offa me, ya fuzzball! I oughta..." but as Korg raised his scepter to the pointing Pyder, his favorite beatin' stick vanished in a beam of soft light. Then as the Pyder suffered the same quiet fate, an enraged Emp-rer swept a smoldering gaze to his once-fallen foe.

"That was my favorite skepter."

"I believe you mean scepter."

"Shaddup!" Korg swung out his hands, bandaged and twisted like vogo talons. "DIE FOOF - EY - hair?" His scream trailed off, as there was absolutely no reaction, mystical or otherwise.

"Korg, you fool, where did you think your Pyder got all of that energy?" With a small shake of his head, Rayje lifted the hilt from his side and grasped it tightly in both hands. The familiar blue-white blade leapt forth and began to crackle with power.

Korg grinned a toothy grin. "Then I’ll just hafta thump ya the old fashioned way." Again shattering the peace of this sacred place, both warriors let loose cacophonous battle cries as they launched themselves at one another.

Pressed upon by an unrelenting rainstorm, and pinched between a bitter force of rejuvenated Paradans and a juggernaut from ages ago, the Magi from Bograth were beginning to buckle under the sudden turn of the tide.

Olabra’s grip on the situation was failing as her people fought individually, rather than as a group; each of her warriors looking out for themselves. Olabra knew that all it would take would be one outburst from a whiner like Weip and the whole of her army would be running for home. She barked orders at the frazzled Bograthians, but either they could not hear her over the battle or they chose to ignore her commands.

Bazha, with the help of this upstart and his wonderful Construct, had routed her forces and taken back the Basin. The fight was now about avoiding capture.

"Retreat, my warriors, retreat and we shall strike back another day!" Olabra shouted above the din of battle. Best be the one to call it, than to be the one left behind, she thought.

"Miss 'Lobra!" Granna moved to her Elder’s side, "Wot of th' King?"

Scrambling for something that she could work with, Olabra was beaten to the punch. "It looks like you can take him with you." Bazha called from a few paces away, dismissing the ensorcelled vines gathering around him.

Slowly, heads began to turn to the entrance of the Grove of the Paradise Gem, where a bruised and dirty Rayje stood holding up the unconscious form of Bograth’s All-High King. The cloaked figure began descending the slope into the Basin proper, dragging Korg by his royal collar.

The rain lessened as Rayje approached the holding skirmish, as if the sky itself wanted a better view of what was to happen. Walking through the silent crowd, the old Magi stopped only when he reached the small gathering around Olabra and Bazha. "Take your king and leave." With that, Rayje tossed Korg’s beaten carcass at Olabra’s feet. "There is too much at stake to waste time this way."

Many of Bograth’s finest took this opportunity to head for the swamps. Watching her people leave, Olabra snapped her head at Korg while Golthub approached. "Get the King, we’re going home." Turning to walk away, Olabra stopped to cast a sidelong glare at Boria. "Remember what happened here, child." Boria’s jaw tightened as she watched Olabra join her people in their sullen retreat.

Many of the Paradans then cast their eyes upon Rayje as he moved to Sinder’s side. He turned to face the crowd. "There is a far bigger threat brewing in the North. The Dark Twins are a threat that none in the Moonlands can afford to ignore. I urge you all to look to your northern borders and make ready for a real war!" With that, Rayje spun on his heel and stalked into the jungle. "Come Sinder, we must be going," were the last words he uttered over his houlder as the foliage hid him from view. In a flash, the Construct was no more and Sinder hurried after the legendary figure.The drained folk of Paradwyn watched their departure in silence.

"There is much rebuilding to do," Bazha broke the silence solemnly. "M’lady, by your word." The Lifekeeper of the Jungle turned his eyes to Boria, as did all of her people. The weight of their eyes was almost unbearable. Haunted by Olabra’s words, Paradwyn’s Elder swallowed her pride.

"No," she spoke softly, "it will be by yours, old friend."

Epilogue
Slithering up to the doorway of Olabra’s hut, Golthub was making the same trip he had made every day since their return to Bograth. His dingy hand thumped clumsily on the rotting door, four times and then once again for good measure. Awaiting an answer he began to pick the film from under his fingernails, just like yesterday.

The sound of a plank being cast aside startled the Royal Toady, as it did every day, and the door opened but a crack.

"Yes?"

"Miss Olabra, I thought I might ask about the King’s health tonight."

"Why Golthub, it is just dreadful. I am not sure he will last until morning. He did have the strength, however, to command that Phlouk get to testing those Black Stuff rings ''or else.' With a slight smile she peered down at the chubby sycophant.

"That does sound like our Emperor, I think he will pull through yet. Great and mighty, he is." With more of a slop than a slither, Gothub made his way down the muddy path from the Elder’s hut; happy to take tonight’s missive to the Royal Ringsmith. Olabra watched from her doorway as the Toady disappeared through some hanging moss.

Closing her door gently, Olabra turned back to her abode and was met by a question from Eryss. "Do you really think you can keep this up?"

Olabra sighed contentedly. "When he stops believing it, then we will have a funeral. For now, Golthub passes on my orders and I get to rest at home pretending I am caring for that oaf."

Eryss giggled. "I can’t believe you just dumped him in the river. Won’t he wash up somewhere?"

"Probably not," Olabra mused as she picked up her drink, "but if he does, he is someone else’s problem now." }}