NationStates Jolt Archive

The towering Vala rubbed his temples. 'That son of a bitch...' came his first thoughts, echoing in the corners of his mind. Next to him, on his Iron Throne, the Angband Stone slowly flickered and faded, having been only recently disengaged.

It was painfully obvious. Very clear now, it was, something was amiss with Alkanphel. He had admitted no more than a month or so prior that he had actually fallen in love with the Dread Lady. Unthinkable. Love was an emotion for the weak, a fabrication of the human mind to ease the pain and suffering of day to day life. It had no place in the minds of those in his employ. He frowned mightily. The temptation to distance himself from the problem while consolidating his power was great. Until recently, he had been fairly sure he'd just shuffle the Maia off to Io and consolidate his influence over the various Commodores and Fleet officials that would have technically remained in Alkanphel's charge. But, he reasoned, this move would likely serve to alienate Althalon, and it would put Alkanphel in a position to maneuver beyond his watch.

You couldn't use a seeing stone to peer into Aurontel, after all.

No, Alkanphel would have to remain at Utumno. Also, he would have to keep a close watch on the Southron Guard and other various human military units who were only half certain of the Dark Lord's existence. For most, the buck seemed to stop with Alkanphel, and many saw Melkor as a fleeting enigma--few put it past the Maia to fabricate his existence to solidify his control over the masses. It had been many generations since the humans had actually seen Morgoth, and they had a tendancy to doubt that which they could not see. This would have to change.

Like any intelligent evil mastermind, he could not rule out the possibility of rebellion. By the same token, he couldn't tie down Alkanphel too much, as doing so would make his suspicions manifest, and would likely force the Warlord's hand.

So for now, he brooded, and watched. Alkanphel had just returned from Devras, so now would be the time to investigate any further... misplacement of his loyalties. Lifting an enormous hand, he punches up a direct video link with Camp Ancalagon--the headquarters for the Sable Fist.

"I have an interesting assignment for you..."

"So... how about it?" asks Alkanphel, steepling his fingers before his face. He gazes intently across the conference table to Sky Marshal Roland Petrik.

Petrik furrows his brows. He was in something of a difficult position, that much was rather certain. He was, of course, tempted by the prospect of increasing his share of power, to deny this would be a lie. Under his command, of course, were the entirety of the Five Kingdoms battlefleets.

Including the Sky Furnaces, of course. Suffice to say, his position was a pivotal one. He knew Alkanphel would easily detect any trepidation, or boldface lies. He had to answer truthfully, and he knew it. Of course, it was probably healthy to fear for his life had he chose to turn the Warlord down. Fortunately for him, Alkanphel's interests had coincided with his own. It was probably for this reason that the Maia sought him out first.

"I'll do it. The question is, how effective we will be in consolidating our control over the crews. Most of them are loyal to myself and Warlord Garrand, but..." he trails off meaningfully, raising his gaze to meet Alkanphel's. "We'll need to discuss this with Marcus. Without him, this will be next to impossible. Many of the Commodores are still fiercely loyal to him, and--"

Alkanphel cuts him off. "I know. Garrand will be contacted shortly. But for now, it's important that we do not reveal our devices too quickly. Drop subtle hints, but be careful. Joke about it." He turns in his chair and grabs a folder, tossing it to the Sky Marshal. "This is a list of...'possible subversives' within your ranks. You're in there, of course, but you've been trusted with this kind of authority on virtue of your competence. Melkor's an arrogant man, and this oversight leads him to make mistakes he's soon to regret."

The Maia hikes a chin towards the folder as Petrik picks it up. "Contact them, and find out where they stand. Most are Commodore's aides and Taskmasters within the Imperial Air ranks."

Petrik raises a brow. "So besides Garrand, what's your plan?"

The Warlord holds up a finger. "I don't think I'm going to get into that with you at this point. Things are still very much up in the air and to be frank I'm not entirely certain who I can trust and who's still loyal. Suffice to say, the possibility of making a mistake and revealing my devices to someone who may choose to report me to Melkor is still very great. I will contact you again when the time is right. But for now, I must move to cover for myself and to expand my influence. This will have to be done quickly and efficiently. Melkor will win a long, drawn out engagement, and we both know this."

He stands, folding his arms behind his back. "You have your orders. I will contact you again in a couple of days, when I'm more certain what's going to happen. Go. Make haste."

'Now, onto Althalon...'

*Tagged for interest*

Warlord Althalon leans back in his chair, his brows furrowed. Reaching for the cigarette that was teetering on the edge of his ashtray, he sighs, his mind racing.

"What do we do?" Asks his field Marshal, Ezr Sergoyan.

"Good question. This could simply be a test, but..." he trails off meaningfully, taking a drag off his cigarette.

Ezr nods. "Indeed. I'd never put it past Angband to... check in on us every once in a while." He purses his lips. "I'd do it if I was them. We're rather distant after all, I can see how they might fear for our loyalty. Despite the difference in title, one could argue you wield more power her on Io than Alkanphel does in Utumno. If we were to turn, it would be disastrous for the Five Kingdoms."

The Easterling Warlord leans forward, reaching for the ashtray again to dispose of the growing ash. "Quite. But I, for one, think this is the real deal. Regardless, we'll do well to cover our tracks by contacting Angband in the meantime, and... informing them of this missive." He punches up a commlink, leaning back again as he waits for the Angband switchboard to process the signal and patch it through to the proper channels. "If Alkanphel is serious, Melkor probably already has some idea as to his motives. I doubt we'd be betraying him in informing the Dark Lord. Such as it is, we definately need to keep our cards close to the vest. If it is a test, the transmission I'm about to take will cover our asses and keep us safe from a purge. If it isn't, it will allow us to play both sides against the middle until we can make a definate decision. In the meantime, we'll need to consolidate and strenghten our marine presence aboard the Six Fleets..."

"Seven," Ezr corrects him. "The Seventh is close enough to completion that we can't afford to discount then either."

"Precisely. Also, Melkor has yet to appoint a Commodore for the Seventh, so by keeping in his good graces, my suggestions to that effect will still hold water. Still, I worry about Ahadi."

Ezr nods thoughfully as a gruff looking Haradrim appears on the screen on the Warlord's desk. "Hello Warlord Althalon," his voice cuts in. "What can I do for you?"

"Put me through to Melkor," he says quickly. "I've got important news."


****
Executive Memo to all Imperial Battlefleets stationed at Aurontel
From: Warlord Althalon
Re: Security Detail and alterations to Chain of Command

Due to increased security concerns regarding mainland Dor Daedoloth, I am increasing the security detail aboard all active vessels. Marine detail on Frigates of all types will be increased to four squads from the original two. Frigate security teams will report to a Staff Sergeant to be appointed to each ship by myself. Capship security teams will be increased to fifteen squads from the original eight, with Staff Sergeants overseeing operations in each operating sector of their respective craft. These Sergeants will report to a Master Sergeant, who will oversee security ops onboard all capships and carriers.

I will also appoint a Taskmaster to coordinate Fleet Security operations, and he will be stationed on the flagship Battlecruiser for each respective fleet. These Taskmasters will forgo the nominal chain of command and will report directy to me for simplicity's sake. While ship Captains and their crews will remain in complete control of all ship operations, the security staffs are to at once be granted full clearance for their vessels, and must be briefed in full at the start of every mission along with their flight crews.

New crews will ship out in 48 hours.

OOC: Humm. Will it be possible for information about these manouverings to leak out? I do like to keep my finger on the pulse after all. If the memo was public within the fleet chain of command then it should be (comparatively) easily available...

OOC: Humm. Will it be possible for information about these manouverings to leak out? I do like to keep my finger on the pulse after all. If the memo was public within the fleet chain of command then it should be (comparatively) easily available...

True enough. The RP is open to a certain extent, but I've got a tenuous plotline already crafted, so best to TG me or something and let me know what you want to do and so forth.

tag

Tag

tag

Taggedy

"Status," grunted Melkor simply, turning his eye towards Warlord Pharros Adûnakhôr, the Black Númenorean from Minas Morion.

The man scowled. "The movement is spreading faster than we had planned. Alkanhpel has seemingly poole all sorts of support from places I had never thought possible. Infighting has already begun between loyalist and seperatist factions among the ranks of our human Marines. Of particular concern to me are the Easterling Companies, they seem more or less split right down the middle."

"And the Battlefleets?"

"They still seem to be under our control It was known, however, that Alkanphel met with Sky Marshal Petrik. Considering that Petrik is still alive, it's safe to assume that he has sided with the rogue Maia. I'm also fairly worried about Warlord Garrand, and I urge some manner of action in this area. My operatives have been watching him closely, and while he hasn't made any moves either way, he and Petrik are fairly close. I believe it is only a matter of time before Garrand defects as well, my Lord."

Melkor stirred, reflexivly clenching an enormous fist. "I will summon Alkanphel here, to Angband, though I have my doubts as to whether he'll deign to show up. Where is he now?"

"He left Utumno several days ago, my Lord. We've lost track of him."

Melkor grunts. "I'll find him, don't worry. In the meantime I want you to move against Garrand and neutralize him before he becomes a factor. If he were to remain loyal to us, he'd have reported in like Althalon did. I'll have Ahadi bring in the space Fleets to assist our gravships in neutralizing known rebel positions. Petrik will also be...dealt with. You are to take up interim command of the Battlefleets until we know just who is on our side and who isn't."

"Yes, my Lord."

A figure in black walked into the Emperor’s office, greying hair surmounted his head and from a low brow, grey eyes watched the goings on around him with laserlike intensity. The Emperor smiled, looking at him, “Ah good, Paul. What brings you here?”

“I felt,” he said, “that nothing other than speaking in person would do here. I don’t want this getting out.”

Mephet’ran leaned back in his chair, and adjusted the many security measures of the room; he could even see the closed door behind the director of his dirty tricks and special services flowing a little, each door becoming one with the other, and the wall, the two inch thick layer of living metal behind the ornate wooden facades eliminating the door entirely, “I see. Security mechanisms should be online now. What is it?”

De Vere sat, the confidence of long years of power evident, “Our spies bring word of stirrings in Morgoth’s domain. It appears there may be a coup fermenting,” he said, his hushed tone conspiratorial despite the paranoid security precautions of the palace.

The Emperor leaned forward. “I see. Learn more. If you can find out who the ringleaders are, consider taking action on their behalf.”

Walek Steelblood, Lord of Intelligence within the Eternal Dominion of Wretchengard, walked deep into the heart of Blackstone Fortress. He came at last to a large door of dark metal, engraved with words in Old Wretchan and images depicting the rise of the first Overlord. As he approached, the Honor Guard stationed there stepped aside, easily recognizing him. After a retina and ID scan, the door quickly slid open, its ancient appearance hiding the advanced technology of the Wretchans. The same could be said for the majority of the building. Walek stepped through the doorway, and walked towards the raised dais at the back of the room, at the top of which the Iron Throne of Overlord Bradley Steelblood rested. A half-dozen Honor Guard stood around it the dais, half on each side. Stopping before the dais, he bowed low on one knee.

"Arise, arise," the Overlord said with a chuckle. Rising from his throne, he walked down the steps and embraced his younger brother. "It has been too long since business has brought you here to see me!"

"Indeed it has, brother," the younger Steelblood replied with a warm smile.

"Leave us," he commanded the guards. They bowed in unison and walked out, leaving the brothers alone.

"So what brings you to my door?" the Overlord asked. "I don't suppose you pried yourself away from Rillstadt just to drop by and say hello, did you?"

"I'm afraid not," the Lord of Intelligence replied. "Recent information has led me to believe that there is something going on in the Five Kingdoms."

"Oh? What sort of information?" he asked.

"Stirrings amidst the military, mostly. Unexplained shuffling of forces," Walek replied.

"We've received no word from Angband of plans for any new campaigns..." the Overlord mused.

"Exactly," exclaimed the younger Steelblood. "We don't normally delve to deeply into the doings of Melkor's people; normally they tell us everything we need to know. It might be nothing, but I've got a hunch that something is going down over there..."

"Indeed," the Overlord murmured. His brother was a very intuitive fellow, and his hunches turned out to be true, more often than not.

"Have your sources in the Five Kingdoms pry deeper, and see what they might learn," the Overlord spoke. "I will see what we can discover by standard diplomatic means. Hopefully between us we will be able to discover what's going on over there, and if it's of any concern to us."

"As you command, majesty," Walek bowed and turned to leave.

"And Walek," the Overlord called, "do come by more often. You cannot stay holed up in Rillstadt all of the time."

"I'll be back soon, brother," he called out as he walked out of the throne room, although he suspected that he would be very busy in the near future if his hunch was correct...

OOC: That's all I'll post for now until you respond to the TG I sent you Melkor.

Taskmaster Ogan Sourn lifted the bullhorn to his lips, the assembled men falling silent as he barked into it.

"The time has come for Fury's Call to sound their war-horns!" he bellows, raising his chainsword skyward. "Long have we been loyal servants to the Lord of Angband, but he has turned his backs on us! Forsaking us outright as rebels with no cause or reason we now have no choice but to validate his fears!" he growls, levelling the weapon at the assembles company. The crowd murmurs.

"Why, you ask?!" he asks, drawing his jaw. "Lord Melkor has ordered a purging of Nova Rhûn! Even as I speak the Orc-hordes shake the ground with their inexorable march to your homes, to your families, and all you hold in esteem! Long have we labored to enforce his Will, but now it has turned on us, nay it has turned on our entire race, on our people, on each and every one of you!"

He turns and has a word with one of his Sergeants, who nods and promptly surries off before the man raises his horn again. "Come with me, my brothers, and we shall earn them their salvation! To the streets of Urlang we shall turn first, and there we shall show our visitors the meaning of retribution!"

The men lift their rifles and release a mighty war cry, as Sourn raises his sword again, his scream bursting through the air like a thousand freight trains. "For Rage and Ruin!""

"You must speak to them, my Lord. We must make known the extent of your control over the nation," urges Warlord Adûnakhôr, leaning forward in his chair. Above him, the towering Vala idly taps the enormous seeing stone that rests on the armrest to his throne.

"Yes, it would be prudent," he surmises. "The... grassroots, as it were, is seldom certain of that which they do not see. I've heard some disturbing rumors of the majority of them following Alkanphel simply on virtue of the fact that he's more... visible." Melkor shakes his head. "Inform the pit to prepare for me. I will be going topside in two days time, as long as the preparations can be made in time. All townsfolk are to assemble in the main square, where I shall..." he pauses, grinning deviously. "Speak to them. At length."

The Warlord stands slowly and grins wickedly. "And Alkanphel?"

Melkor waves a hand dismissivbely. "He will reveal himself in due time. He cannot stay hidden for long if he wishes to retain any manner of support. Call the Sable Fist off their hunt for the Maia..."

The Warlord arches a brow. "But my Lord--"

Melkor cuts him off. "I've got a better use for them. Talk to our good friend Aros and we'll send him and his men to Devras. It's time to take the wind out of this bastard's sails."

Another restless night.

Selecting one of her many playlists, Nathi adjusts the volume and rests back in her chair, legs curled up close as she works on yet another document – this one detailing the security arrangements that Massetti has laid out for the Dominion part of the wedding. Of course, everything seemed in order. Mas might be nearly the exact opposite of the departed Marik in personality, and though he could never hope to replace the man, but he did do a damnably fine job of watching over her.

Aye, whether I want it or not, came the thought as she scowls at the page of numbers. Where in hell does he think he’s going to hide all of that, damn his eyes? If he has his way, there will be more guard than guest!

Of course, that wasn’t all. In the grand scheme of things, especially after how smoothly the coronation had gone, such issues were the least of her worries, and only a small portion of earlier discussions between herself, and Mas, and Pellegrino, and a number of others who were more than a little concerned with the state of things abroad.

Giving the document her stamp of approval, she saves it for tomorrow’s meeting, and closes it, shifting her attention to the latest reports on the Five Kingdoms. Her frown grows deeper and more thoughtful as she once again peruses the findings of their agents, the rumors quietly spreading through trade avenues of unrest within the Imperium.

Granted, the information wasn’t much – Melkor’s domain was not a place that infiltrators tread easily. All that could be gathered was a feeling of dissatisfaction here and there, though to all outward appearances, things seemed to be for the most part business as usual. Ever since the unfortunate ‘misunderstanding’ between Treznor and the Five Kingdoms, the Dominion had been watched all that much more closely, and quality information was at a premium on account. Trade was, and remained, the best source.

Of course, she had knowledge that others did not. And while she had kept what few details she knew to herself, she had quietly been preparing her people for what promised to be one hell of a conflict. Trade continued as it had since the new agreements had been penned, what seemed forever ago. No outward efforts were made to keep a closer eye on the Imperium than they already had – whichever way this panned, she had decided that mostly honest claims of ignorance were in their best interest. What was important was that Alkanphel remained in the eyes of the people at least, the visible source of power in the Five Kingdoms. Melkor himself, for now, remained shrouded in mystery and myth, a faceless threat hovering over the Empire like a dark cloud; threatening but distant and untouchable.

I hope that will be enough to turn the tide … this will be no easy fight.

Sighing softly, she pushes her portcomp away, stands and stretches slowly. The usual comfort of her office felt close and stuffy tonight. A glance at the clock confirms what she had feared – it was entirely too late to be up and working. Still, the music was pleasant. Gently picking up her little workstation, she walks down the hall to her room, bare feet padding quietly over the carpet. She sets it down on the small desk, turning up the volume just a bit and opening up the window it sits under, then going to her armoire to fetch out a long wrap-around sweater. Pulling it on over her tee-shirt and loose flannel bottoms, she opens the door, and slips outside, shivering just a bit from the immediate chill in the air as she paces the balcony slowly, lost in thought.

How many times had Melkor had such an uprising in his long history? When the Dominion had first initiated contact, she had done all she could to look into the Imperium, its mysterious leader, the prominent officials, and its past to get a feel for just what they were getting into. Much of it had been … incredible to say the least, though it had done much to explain the tensions between themselves and the Menelmacari and other elven nations, no doubt. Granted, much of the information she had at the time was from such allies, and hence, considered somewhat biased, but still … as the soft music continued to waft through the window, she could think of no other such occurrences. Ever.


The Queen of Light took her bow, And then she turned to go,
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom, And walked the night alone.
Oh, dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.


And he is doing it for me. Il dio, may Melkor never know the ‘why’ there. We’ve been careless enough, I think, in our conversations. He has shown more than enough willingness to move against any he deemed in his way or working against him. All the more reason to keep ourselves as distant from all this as we can, and maintain our trade agreements. We will play this out as long as we can, taking no sides. We can’t afford to. Not until there is a clear advantage.

She wasn’t displeased by any stretch. Nothing, she had decided, would make her more pleased than to see that son of a bitch thrown down, and to have Alkanphel the uncontested ruler in truth of the Five Kingdoms. And yet, the actual rebellion worried her. More than worried her, it scared her. She had seen the results of Melkor flexing his might before, and the aftermath of those actions. She wasn’t eager to witness all that again, especially when so much was at stake.


The dark Lord rides in force tonight, And time will tell us all.
Oh, throw down your plow and hoe, Rest not to lock your homes.
Side by side we wait the might of the darkest of them all.


Nathi shivers again, pulling the thick grey sweater more closely around her as she looks out into the darkness. Light clouds obscured the stars, and the waning moon was just a sliver in the eastern sky, slipping in and out of view as they rolled across its softly glowing face. The bright lights from the city below gave the grey shapes a touch of gold and red, underlit by the nation’s bustling center that never truly slept. Out and away from the soft glow, the rolling darkness of the lands surrounding it – the lower hills, the scattered fields, the thick trees lining the mountainside that her own home perched on. Reaching back, she pulls her hair free of the band that holds it back, shaking her head and letting the long raven tresses fall down around her shoulders, then pulls the sweater back in close again as she quietly pads down the stairs to the silent courtyard below.


I hear the horses' thunder down in the valley below,
I'm waiting for the angels of Avalon, waiting for the eastern glow.
The apples of the valley hold, The seeds of happiness,
The ground is rich from tender care, Repay, do not forget, no, no.
Dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.


She knows the guards are out there as well in the darkness, watching her as they always did. Security had increased at the villa, more than she truly wished, though they had settled back into a somewhat comfortable compromise in the months following the attempted coup. She weaves her way through the boxed gardens and chairs of the courtyard without worry, glancing at the guesthouse for a moment with a quiet smile before turning towards the outer wall.

Indeed, security does take notice, and relaxes a bit, seeing her attire and direction. Such behaviour was a familiar sight, especially at times when the Emperor was absent or the stress of her position more obvious. So long as she remained in the back area of the property, dressed as she was, there was little chance she would be making any attempts to slip their careful watch as she had a time or two in the past. It was a game she never seemed to tire of, from their perspective, though one they sorely wished she would lose interest in. They had all learned well enough what spots to check first when she managed to duck out of sight, and thankfully, her full schedule of late had cut down the seemingly playful ‘tests’ of their watchfulness.


Oh, well, the night is long the beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise, Waiting for the eastern glow.
The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath,
The drums will shake the castle wall, the ring wraiths ride in black, Ride on.
Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before.
No comfort has the fire at night that lights the face so cold.


Snippets of the music came through on the gentle breeze that caused the trees in the yard to creak and rustle. As she leans on the top of the stone wall and gazes out across the city and bay beyond, Nathicana tunes her augmented hearing back to what would be considered normal levels, not wanting to pick up each and every little sound around her, and analyze it as she always does, for now just wanting to relax and experience the peaceful evening as it was meant to be experienced, in hopes that the comforting quiet and familiar view would soothe her nerves and worried mind enough that she could sleep.

We plan, we prepare, we wait. The fleets are on quiet alert, patrols have been increased … we are safe so long as we continue to mind our own business, and have nothing to do with the mess. No need for worry. He knows what he’s doing. He has the support, or he’d not be making the move.

As she carefully pulls a finely-crafted necklace free of her shirt and thoughtfully toys with the medallion hanging from it, leaning on her elbows on the lower wall’s top, she realizes with a frown that she sounds as if she is trying to convince herself.






You people do realize, of course, that YOU DO NOT NEED TO TAG ANYMORE (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=375044), right? Just a thought ...

OOC: I was sure I tagged this...Ah well.

Agwene slips quietly out into the gardern, dressed simply in the shorts and t-shirt that she's discovered only since beginning her visit to the Dominion. Everyone local seems to be quite cold but the temperature seems to effect her little. Perhaps it's merely her original climate. The sidhe smiles lightly to herself, moving to sniff a flower and simply take in the night air.

Agwene spots Nathi, frowning with faint concern. The woman looks like she's carrying a heavy weight, as she often has recently. Quietly, Agwene walks towards the Imperatrice. "Up late, Majesty?"

Step. Turn. Block. Exhale. Inhale. Step. Twist. Step. Strike. Exhale.

He settles into a waiting stance and nods. Without a sound, half a dozen men and women step forward with sticks to strike at him.

There is a flurry of motion as he twists and ducks under the initial barrage. He snatches a baton out of the air as it descends toward his chest and twists it away. The former owner stumbles, but recovers.

He parries a blow with the baton and leaps into a flying kick, strikes another opponent in the shoulder and sends her crashing backward. Then he ducks under the sweep of another blow and retaliates with his free hand, feeling the man's shoulder dislocate.

Damn. Too hard.

He rolls and comes back up underneath the guard of a fourth. He sweeps his leg out and sends him to the floor, followed up with a sharp rap that leaves the man stunned gasping for breath.

Better. Control. I can't let my control slip again.

There are three still up. He fetches a fallen baton and advances on them. They charge him from three different angles and he twists, deflecting one into the path of another while confronting the third directly. Then there were two.

A moment later he drops the batons and reaches for a towel. "Alec, get Heinric some medical attention. I was too enthusiastic for my own good. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you. That will be all."

The six sparring partners bow respectfully before filing quietly out of the room. Heinric holds his arm carefully as he's escorted by a guard to medical quarters.

"Majesty, Minister Vitner wishes to speak with you."

"Fine, send him in." Treznor wipes his face and heads for the shower. "Also, send my regards to Diplomatic Officer H'ucy. I need a sparring partner who can beat me. I'm losing my edge."

"Ah, yes Your Majesty."

Treznor strips out of his gear and steps into the shower stall. A moment later, he's scrubbing quickly when he hears familiar footsteps. "Sorry about the informal surroundings, Ben. What's up?"

"We've got confirmation that something's up in the Five Kingdoms, Sir."

Dammit. I never can trust them. "What have you got?"

"Alkanphel's movements have changed abruptly. Tracking reports significant modifications in Five Kingdom fleets; some look like they're mustering for attack while others are taking up defensive positions around Arda. It's almost like they're setting up for wargames."

"Except Ardan fleets don't do wargames. What about the rest of Metus?"

"They're not taking part of this. We're not seeing any unusual activity whatsoever."

"Do you know where Alkanphel is right now?"

"We've avoided pushing it, but I'm pretty sure the Hack techs can give us a solid location."

"So long as it isn't near the Dominion, we'll keep it passive. I don't want to reveal our ace unless absolutely necessary. What's changed about his movements?"

"He's moved around a lot among Five Kingdom fleets. His movements suggest he's coordinating something. It could be preparations for a new offensive against Titan, or an NDA nation."

Like us. Maybe Melkor decided to use this lull to catch us off-guard. If anyone would be in on it, it would be Alky.

Treznor shut off the water and reached for a robe. "All right, increase our alert status and quietly spread the word among our allies. Top level eyes only. When this goes down, I expect it to happen suddenly. Make targeting Alkanphel a priority, and be prepared to hit him hard."

"Sir, he's spending the majority of his time off-planet. We don't have the resources to interdict him there with impunity."

"That's what allies are for, Ben. Get with TYCS and coordinate through Admiral Sanchez. It's about time we bought our own damned ships from Karma, anyway."

"Yes, Sir."

"Send word to the Dominion, and go through normal protocol. I want to discuss this one with Nath personally. She knows Alkanphel better than anyone." Better than I'd like, for sure. If only he were anyone else.

"Yes, Sir."

"Anything else?"

"No, Sir."

"I'll go over that intelligence from Hack after dinner. Make sure Sanchez is available to talk to by that time. Let's hope Melkor isn't coming after us."

"Gods forbid, Sir."

Imperial Palace, Arpia - Reploid Productions

"MilIntel reports increased activity in the Five Kingdoms, though they haven't been able to pinpoint a cause or reason. The mobilization patterns don't quite match anything in our records." Tiffany Celta frowns, reading over the latest reports.

"Any word from our allies about it?" Firefury leans on one elbow, regarding the data. "TYCS has better intel on Arda than we do, after all."

"No word yet." The grey-haired defense secretary replies, cueing up some more information. "MilIntel notes though that what little intel we have is kinda similar in nature to your own manuverings prior to the Uprising. No idea who's behind it."

Tsume taps his talons on the floor in thought. "I would bet you good money it would be Alkanphel."

"Eh?" Firefury looks over at the dragon. "What makes you say that?"

"I spoke with a couple of Ardan Marshals at Nathicana's coronation. By their accounts, the Warlord had been acting quite strange all evening." The black drake responds thoughtfully. "Extrapolating on that, it doesn't seem quite as out of line for such strangeness to expand into other arenas."

"Well, yeah, but acting weird when forced into conversation with yer sworn enemies and acting strange and inciting rebellion are two entirely different things." Firefury looks doubtfully at the Foreign Affairs secretary. "Arda could be mobilizing to launch a new campaign, possibly against Triumvirate or maybe even NDA nations."

"Actually, the reports don't indicate any real target- all known mobilization appears to be largely within Ardan territory, either in offensive or defensive arrangements." Tiffany points out.

"A war game then?" Firefury flips through the data some more.

"If so, it's a first." Tiffany notes. "As far as our intel shows, the Five Kingdoms don't do war games. Like, ever."

"Hmm...." Firefury closes her eyes in deep thought, almost like she's listening to something the other two can't hear. "Maintain present levels of surveilence, and our fleets alert but not obviously so. And contact TYCS to find out if they have any news on this. If it is some sort of internal strife, we can just sit back, grab the popcorn, and enjoy the show."

((OOC: THAT is how you write a tag, people!))

"HAVE AT YOU!" General Gaarm is surrounded by three Skeen agents, bearing shock-gloves and titanium staves. He holds his dueling hammer in one hand, spinning the 1.5 meter shaft slowly. Two agents with shock gloves activated rush him; one swinging high, the other low for the legs. The staves crackle slightly with the electric current coursing through them.

Sparks fly as the General's hammer collides with the electrified staves. The head of his hammer knocks one aside as the bottom of the shaft meets the other one and deflects it. He shifts his grip swiftly towards the lower third of the shaft while spinning his entire body, letting the 50 lb head of the hammer swing wide in a low arc. Both agents leap over the hammer, only to feel a heavy blow as Gaarm's tail completes the arc started by the hammer and collides with their ribs mid-leap. It is like being hit with a beef shank on the end of a chain. The two agents collide with each other and slam into a wall, heaving their chests as they try to regain their breath.

The third agent activates his chamo-web suit, and seemingly disappears from view. Gaarm's eyes swivel in all directions, looking for telltale signs of his foe. After a moment, he closes his eyes, still spinning his hammer slowly. Alright, clear the mind and focus on one sense. One sense.... After a brief moment, his ears focus in on the soft sound of a very light step behind him. Ah HA! he thrusts his hammer-shaft behind him swiftly in a stabbing motion, and feels the impact of success. A quick turn and hoist, and his foe finds himself airborne as he is seemingly impaled on the shaft, then flung several meters away, landing with a loud "WHOOMPH!"

An aide rushes into General Gaarm's exercise room, holding a datapad in her hands. She looks at thefallen agents briefly, and shakes her head. "General, I have some news. You may want to see this."

Gaarm nods, and looks at the agents sprawled on the floor. "Very sloppy. I am going to recommend more stringent training standards from your Director. Thirty seconds, and failure. Dismissed." The three agents stand, holding their impending bruises, bow and file out.

The General takes the pad, and looks at the data on it. Multiple queries from Triumvirate and NDA nations to the TYCS for information on Arda and their 'war games'.

Interesting....something is amiss, perhaps? Imperial allies are concerned, so perhaps I should be? Hrrmmmmm.... What constitutes a frown crosses Gaarm's face as he cups his chin in his free hand. He hands the pad back to the aid. "Forward this to Admiral Shaar along with my recommendation that we keep 'silent eyes' on the situation." The aide nods knowingly. Silent Eyes usually meant a discreet hack into some neighboring ComSat, and using their sensors to keep eyes on the situation without anyone the wiser. If it's done skillfully and discreetly, that is.

OOC: Well, I call it a TAP!

Alkanphel peers into the darkness to the torchlight of the approaching Orc band, crouching behind a rock. He signals to them silently, drawing himself lower so as to remain out of sight.

The Orcs tense up as Alkanphel's marines pull back the bolts on their rifles, and their mirth ceases. The largest Orc thrusts his torch closer and sniffs the air. "Ya best be lookin lively, boys," he hisses, his eyes narrowing. "We'ze need to--" the Orc Cheiftan is silenced as five of Fury's Call leap from their hiding place, tearing into the patrol with pulse rifle fire. Their screams echo through the corridor, intensifying as the anrgy Maia reveals himself, cutting down the radio operator with his sword as the Orc fumbles with the controls.

The Orcs, trusing in their numbers, rush at their opponents with reckless abandon, and the sound of metal cleaving meat fills the corridor as a vicious melee ensues. Before long, the last of the torches is extinguished by the spray of orcish ichor.

Then, silence. The marines stand over their quickly dispatched foes for just a moment, to check their gear and relaod. Alkanphel signals them on down the hall. "This way. We must move quickly," he commands.

"I don't think they managed a distress call," comments Daska Alatis, scowling as he shoves the dead Orc to the ground. "We've got time, but we still need to keep on our toes, of course." Reaching down, he slams his fist into the receptor, mangling it beyond repair.

"Indeed, but I know not of what guards Melkor has left in his throne room. Reports seem to indicate he took the

Balrogs topside with him for the ceremony, which is most fortunate for us. I don't want to have to fight Balrogs.

Alatis and several of his men cringe as they plod down the corridor after the Maia. "We certainly don't either.

Now, kindly refresh my memory. What the hell are we doing here?"

Alkanphel grins. "You'll see. Just be prepared for some heavy lifting, boys."

***

Sable Fist Captain Aros Antanamir strikes the wall of the dropship with his fist. "Attention!" he commands, reaching out to grab a datapad from one of his aides. His squad leaps to their feet, eyes turning to their commander.

Antanamir clears his throat as a projection of their entry point manifests before him. "We are to insert here," he begins, pointing to a section of beach on the western coast, some 40 or so miles south of Devras. As he does, the image grows larger, with a portion highlighted in red. "Our ship will take us to the bottom of the sea about a quarter mile from the beach. From there we will disembark and the ship will relocate to here," he continues, shifting the map. "Rally point coordinates have been sent to your PDA's. In the event of a separation, all units are to make for this area, post-haste. Anyone left behind when the remainder of the team checks in for departure will be left, so you'll have to be quick."

He hands the datapad off to his aide and folds his arms behind his back. "Mission Profile," he starts ominously, narrowing his eyes. "We are to proceed from the entry point to Devras on foot, where our existing contacts will inform us as to the location of our good Imperatrice," he says, unable to resist a snicker. "More likely than not, we will storm the Villa at or around 0200 hours; our sources inform us this is when the guard there will change."

A profile of the Villa replaces the map as he goes on, and a portion of it highlights. "We will stake out the area for three hours prior to insertion using our active camo units to stay as hidden as we can. The Villa is heavily guarded, so we'll have to remain on our toes and refrain from engaging any enemy units if possible. If we're discovered post-cap, or during cap we are to engage only in retreat. It is possible that Devon Treznor may be with her, however eliminating him is a secondary priority, and if doing so compromises the cap, then we must refrain. We must get in and out as quickly as possible: I don't want the Soldati to know she's gone until after we're out of there. We will proceed to the rally point on foot."

The camera view pivots to the cliffside adjacent to the villa, and a green lane is highlighted on the cliff. "We will be scaling this cliff to get to the main structure, and our insertion point will be here. Once we have our quarry, we will also be extricting down this way. The woman has a number of physical augments, and probably some mental ones as well, so we'll have to sedate her to avoid compromising our position." He clears his throat again. "In the event that we're compromised at any point, the secondary rally point will be here, as we do not want to be going down any cliffs while being fired upon. We'll want to avoid the main road, if possible, but this will require some on-the-fly thinking, as we know little about the efficieny or response time of the local guards."

He then turns to peer out the window, and a faint voice can be heard by the others in his commlink. "Alright men, let's move out. We're almost there. Check your gear and prepare to disembark. This is gonna be a long one."

[OOC: Trez, I'm not entirely sure to what extent Hack is 'tracking' Alkanphel, but short of placing a tracking bug on him [which wasn't done] the best they can do is search my administrative database for logs as to his recorded location. Needless to say, that's not going to turn up many hits anymore, as not even Melkor at present is aware of Alkanphel's location. Frankly, neither is Hack.]

OOC: Granted. Intel is poor on that. It's been passive, so it's just as likely that a lot of that intel is inaccurate. Not that we know this ICly.

OOC: Waaa, I need to talk with Alkanphel to see if I can take a little part over this thing, damn!. Looks so, so, SO interesting.

Indigo was rather disatisfied after being advised that his life could in fact be in danger. Those who had not the satisfaction of life were most certainly making a target of him; his life rather than being simple remained as a delicate balance between the war of the dead and the living. Anyhow, he was not a man to fear, nor budge when the shadow of death was overlooking his very existance. So instead he decided to focus on an issue which required much little attention.

"... And so the fleet movements within the Five Kingdoms have appeared to take up proper formation, not recognised by Austarian sensors and intelligence resources since the offensive against Kajal. However unlike such an event, no other Metus or Arda forces appear to be taking part in this manoever, very different from any other if precedent is something to judge for. Therefore it is highly unlikely that these forces gathering are awaiting an offensive against any outside opponent.

Other allied forces remain rather dormant as best to knowledge, ruling out that this could in fact be some kind of distraction from other, offensive forces. The current situation within the Five Kingdoms is unknown, intelligence is rather scarce apart from observation and judgement. Seen only before in circumstances of a civil war, or internal war games; it would be impossible to rule out this manoever as an offense perhaps against the current lordship which remains within the Five Kindoms of Melkor Unchained. Naturally it would be dangerous to make such a judgement, but combined with the general character of Alkanphel (who is in fact quite a head-strong character with a love for the taste of power), this judgement is quite valid, and quite possibly the true gravity of the situation within the Five Kingdoms.

Suggestable measures to be taken would be to watch contact between any two formations for live fire, or any conflict which could indicate internal fighting within Melkor Unchained. Notably, the events incurring may simply be a state of internal training exersises, and the current situation does not warrent full alarm...."

Reading the report which had been delivered to him, Indigo grew in interest the situation, or the events which were unfolding within the Five Kingdoms. Noting it was important for his friends and allies to be aware, he made the report available to anyone who was willing to keep it far from all knowledge, but anyone who really had vested interest in the internal workings of Melkor Unchained.

OCC: Would it be ok for me to join this RP? I must say, the Mars nations are some of the best RPers, and I always like reading your stuff. If it would be alright to get involved:

IC:

"Do you know how stupid you look?"

Grand Admiral Jerry Harrison surveys a group of marine recruits, who were unfortunate enough to make a wrong turn into his office. Dressed up in their pomp-and-circumstance uniforms, they expected to find the parade grounds, but instead burst in on Harrison, in the middle of a trip...

With a very ornate, thousand-year-old Hookah hanging from his lips, wearing his bedclothes, the Grand Admiral of the Orion operational frontier puffs out a thick smoke as he recites Chaucer.

In the corner of his office, an audio playing medium totally alien to most- a record player- cranks out Electric Ladyland. It is nothing short of a miracle that the record and player have survived from the 1960s to sit in the office of Harrison on a huge space station.

"My apologies...sir. We took the wrong door."
"What? Oh, yes. Do grab a brick."
"No thankyou, sir. We must be going."

And with that, the marines leave the office.

"Send for Chow Ming."
"Yes, sir."

Within seconds, Harrison's faithful robot sidekick arrives at the door.

"You called?"
"What is this Melkor? What is it about?"
"I believe that some things have been happening on Mars," says Chow Ming, terribly specifically.

"Here, we must visit the records room and find this out!"

Harrison pulls himself up off of his couch, and heads for the telerecords room, or minor archives.



Meanwhile, in the deepest parts of deep space, a sensors outpost pointed at the desolate wastes of Arda is in peril.

WOOOOSSSSSHHHHHHKABOOM!!!!!!!!

"HRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Bodies litter the floors of the sensors outpost, which has a strange object projected into it. It doesn't really take much of an imagination to guess what the strange object might be, or at least nobody unfamiliar with LRR history.

"You'll never take it! NEVER!!!!!!"

Red and green flashes of light pour through the hole blown through a section of drywall, behind which the outpost's crew was taking cover. Huge white robots weilding equally huge multifunction clubs battle humanoids and their blaster rifles over what a casual observer would dismiss as an odd piece of debris- a wooden crosspiece.

With communications down, internal weapons down, and pretty much everything else down, things are going badly for the station's crew as they drop like flies in front of the robots.

"N...N...N...NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"

OCC: I don't quite know what this has to do with the rest of the thread yet, but I'm working on it. I think the sensors outpost might become a rather valuable piece of real estate for whoever has the proper initiative...

“Sweet Jesu, Agwene,” Nathicana says, whirling to face the other woman, and quickly tucking the necklace back under her shirt. “You scared the life out of me! I ah … yes. Just up, and was working on a few things … a walk out here usually helps settle my nerves, so … here I am. I hope I didn’t wake you with my wandering about. You’ve been comfortable, I hope? Enough to eat? Finding everything alright? If I’m not around, you know Gianni or Dominic or Melina will be more than happy to help get you what you need.”

Something felt more familiar about the girl than it ought to. It was nothing she could put her finger on, but there were times when she almost thought she had the beginings of a thought, something that lingered just out of sight, out of reach when it came to her.

Ever since that night that never happened but did, what with Samhain and all ... odd almost but not quite deja vu moments now and then. It's a pity I can't remember. Never did figure out how they managed it. Ah well ... the morning after certainly was pleasant enough.




LRR: Since when is Melkor a Mars nation? They bloody kicked him off. *goes on being damnably confused, but hey, is normal*

Agwene shakes her head. "No, you didn't wake me. I like to come out and look at the stars sometimes. They're a little different here and you can't see the Eye of Balor. The scholars tell me that's because it isn't a 'real' planet."

The girl pauses a little, thinking. "I saw you and I was worried. Forgive me if it was presumptuous. I just...I feel closer to you than makes sense. I'm not sure why. Is it something you can talk about? You haven't seemed worried in public, at least. That's part of what I'm supposed to be learning from you. Aiwyn assures me a week or two with a foreign monarch will teach me to be a queen. I can't say I feel very confident about my new title though. Her Imperial Majesty..." The teenager blushes lightly and shakes her head.

“Always keep them guessing,” Nathicana says with a wry smile. “Never let them see you sweat it – unless it serves your purposes. Don’t fret too much about it, Agwene. We’ll work on some things, no fear. It just takes a bit of practice, and I’m confident you will not only get used to it, but carry it off with style. As for the title … well, lets just say I can relate.”

Nathi turns back to the wall, the wry smile still turning up the corners of her lips. “All this pomp and fuss has never truly been my style. Hell, I appreciate the finer things in life, to be sure, but some of what goes on with the aristocracy is just such … fraud and waste.” She says the last bit with a slight wrinkling of her nose and an expression of distaste. “We all have our reasons, to be sure. For some, they are born to it. For others like myself, it is a matter of accepting the consequences of our actions. Do what must be done, and pay the price for it sooner or later.”

She quietly avoids discussion of the other topic – that which has had her concerned. There is too much to cover, really, and much of it is information she doesn’t feel ought to be shared in such ways. Not yet at least.

Agwene, for her part, doesn't inquire further. She knows what a secret is, after all.

She blushes ever so faintly at the Imperatrice's apparent confidence. "Thank you, Nathi. That means a lot to me. I wasn't raised for this, as Aiwyn was, though. Who would have thought she'd go on to be Emperess of a much larger realm and grant what used to be our whole world in fief to her little sister?"

The sidhe listens politely to the discussion of aristocracy. "I was born to it, honestly. Forgive me?" The question is asked half-jokingly, with a wry smile.

Agwene steps closer to the woman, not into her personal space or anything of that nature but into typical conversational distance. "Anything I can say to cheer you up? I could tell you about the dreaming, not the problems there now but the wonderous parts."

Nathi arches a brow curiously, seeming quite comfortable with the pleasant conversation. “What’s to forgive? It was a simple observation that we all get to where we are via different roads. Being born to something, well … any children I have,” she says, her eyes taking on a quietly guarded expression, “They will be born to it, after all. If not for such thoughts on the future, I’d likely never have taken up the title. Always keep one eye to the future, Agwene. Whatever the size of your holdings, keeping abreast of the present, looking forward, and learning from the past is important. I’m certain Aiwyn wouldn’t have entrusted you with your charge had she not also thought you both capable, and suitable for the position. We may come from very different worlds, you and I, but some things I believe hold true regardless.”

“Trust me, I am not sad, perse. Rather, let me say that there are times when there are so many thoughts in my head, so many things that need attending, that my mind simply can’t sleep on them. Sometimes I wonder if I oughtn’t look into …” She breaks off that line of thought, keeping the rest internal. No need to be giving out such secrets. There was no telling the trouble some folks would have if they knew she’d had her own mind boosted and/or augmented. “Look into some way of helping focus my mind. I truly ought to take up more serious meditation or the like. At any rate, please, discuss whatever you wish – I’m always pleased to learn more.”

Agwene nods. "Well, I could never go too far in the dreaming because of the danger from Aoibhell. She's not new, just more active. But what I have seen is truly wonderful. There are ancient powerful magics, to be sure, and landscapes of breathtaking beauty. The atmosphere...the world seems younger. This world is terribly old, you know. I am terribly old. I cannot remember life before I returned to the mortal world eighteen years ago but I can feel it in my bones and...I don't know. It's odd being a teenager on the surface and feeling like an ancient somewhere deep. But...in the dreaming, there's places where it feels like the springtime of the world, where things appear as children, madmen, and poets see them. I'll show you some day, if you ever have the time. I'll show you when Aoibhell's dead and we can travel freely throughout. "

Agwene smiles, laughing lightly. "And there are places where it's downright silly. There was one field I saw full of singing mushrooms. Not mushrooms of great power that seemed to sing to the soul. Not some drug. Actual, singing mushrooms that look like something you'd see in a children's cartoon show. I can't think about that without smiling."

Agwene ponders a little. "I wish I could give you advice on meditation. Mental control is one of our weak spots, however. I'm trying to learn from you but it is rather hard to stay focused on one thing."

“Oh, I’ve trained. I use techniques now and then to be sure. It just seems that life gets too busy to take the time. When it’s important to focus the mind, and clear my thoughts, I take the time. This … this is simply having a lot on my mind. Besides, I work best under a bit of pressure,” Nathi says with a half smile, then chuckles. “Still … singing mushrooms? It does rather sound like something someone chasing the dragon would come up with more than something one could actually experience.”

“This … dreaming you speak of. And age … I’m not sure I’ve ever truly understood the mysticism associated with your nation, and others I’m familiar with. I would imagine Prince Caville of Kalessin would enjoy a conversation with you, no doubt. He … “ Nathi pauses, remembering back to that beautifully odd visit (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=282736) so long ago, and smiles softly. “I think he would understand what you mean. He too spoke of age, and of a time when the world was young, and alive. I’m afraid I disappointed him at the time with my admittedly limited views. I won’t pretend with you now either. To me you seem as you appear – a girl in her late teens, albeit very sharp and mature beyond your apparent age. The only ‘world’ I’m familiar with is the here and now, even with reality being broken as it seems. Perhaps this dreaming is another aspect of that?” she says, trying to put the concept into rational terms she can better grasp.

“Perhaps a universal stream of consciousness for your people? Genetic memory retention? Inherited history? And this person you speak of … Aoibhell. How is it she makes the place so unsafe to travel?”

Agwene shakes her head a little. "You were at a Samhain celebration. I know you can't remember it but try to bring the residual feelings to the surface. I don't think I can explain it in words, not exactly. But...you might have noticed there is a certain quality to my people's appearance that can't quite be defined. Try to look at me as though you'd never seen me before, as though it hasn't faded into the background with familiarity. Does that help you understand what I mean by old?"

Agwene pauses, thinking. "The thing is...it isn't just how old my true self is. I don't have any way of even knowing. My people have a very special relationship to time that I could never really explain. I will have to show you the dreaming sometime. Still...and some dogmatists might call this blasphemy...do you want to know it's greatest secret?"

The girl frowns deeply at the question about Aoibhell. "I cannot give all the details without going into the geography and politics of the dreaming. Suffice it to say that Aoibhell is a sidhe and the High Lady of House Balor and that she is a woman of both great evil and great power."

"I'm ... not sure," Nathi says with hesitation, giving Agwene a sidelong look. "It would not be the first time my ignorance of things more ethereal has ended up making me look somewhat foolish. I won't pretend to understand it all Agwene. But I will say that I've learned to take a lot on ... well, faith isn't the word for it really, but aye. I am sorry to hear about your little 'problem child' though." The dark-haired woman's expression hardens somewhat at the mention of House Balor, though her brows furrow as she tries to understand why. To her knowledge, after all, she didn't know any of them. Evil, after all, was relative. Eye of the beholder ...

"Enough dark thoughts for now, no? The night is beautiful, 'tis quiet and peaceful, and a time for letting worries go, not dwelling on them. Time enough for that come morning, as it always does." She looks out back across the city and bay far below, out to the east. "Sunrises here can be beautiful. If you've not seen one yet, I recommend it."

Agwene, blissfully unaware of Aoibhell's recent activities, nods a little. "Yes, problem child. I doubt she will ever do much real harm. Still, it is not a dark secret, Nathi. It is a thing of light, at least to me."

The girl shakes her head, tilting it slightly. "I have not yet seen one. Would it be imposing too terribly much if I were to stay out here and watch it with you?"

The sidhe's eyes focus on the horizon. As her eyes take in the landscape, she seems to light up, to become somehow brighter. She doesn't literally glow or anything overt of that nature. In fact, one would be very hard pressed to point to even the slightest change in her appearance. It's odd, really, and yet somehow natural, comforting.

"I really am loving Devras. We've been modernizing a lot ever since my reign began but...Tarana's nothing even remotely like this yet."

"Of course you're welcome to stay, though it's a few hours til dawn yet," Nathicana says quietly. In watching the seemingly young and somewhat ethereal Agwene, she is again reminded of Caville and his nature to an extent, and she smiles on account, relaxing once more into an easy slumped-over lean along the top of the wall. "Well, the more you see of it, the more you'll learn that for all our modern advances, we remain a pleasant enough mix of past and present. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself so far - I admit a touch of bias, but in my opinion, there's no more comfortable place on earth to be ... at least when things are running smoothly," she ammends with a soft chuckle. "We have our share of predators, have no doubt, for all its seeming tranquility from up here. Perhaps that is part of why I love it so. The depth, the sense of history, the warm hospitality, and the danger all wrapped up together. It seems to suit me perfectly."

She looks over at Agwene again, and smiles. "A word of caution in modernizing your nation, if I may be so bold," she says. "Take your time. Too much too fast is not something that many people are truly prepared for. That way lies chaos, if one is not carefuly. We were not always as advanced as you see here, you know. Most of these advances have happened over the past several years, oddly enough, with much of it being technology and ideas that were years beyond what we had been pursuing, all gained from our alliances and outreaching to other more advanced nations. Even now, we are as a society far behind many of our allies in that regard. Despite the occasional clammour for more, I intend to hold my course: slow and steady. We allow more to trickle in all the time, as our citizens have more opportunity to adjust and adapt. I hope it will continue to serve us well."

"There's no place more comfortable than in the presence of a friend." Agwene replies, her cheeks coloring ever so faintly.

She pauses, thinking a moment. "That would be a far easier thing to do if Aiwyn and Phaeton hadn't decided to combine their holdings and forces to the extent that they have. We now have Mists research facilities, Mists fleets, and all kinds of other institutions and organizations where Imperial Citizens serve with Akatoni. Aiwyn is particularly concerned about updating the armed forces, after the near disaster our mother had with the Androtians."

At the mention of Corrina, Agwene looks at her feet, freezing for a very long moment. Finally breaking her silence, Agwene turns back to Nathicana. "So you're wedding is to be soon, correct? How's it feel?"

Nathi nods at the comments on armed forces and the like, understanding the need for such developments all too well. She blushes a bit at Agwene's first statement, though she makes a decent recovery of it. Always one to watch people closely for their reactions, their 'tells', Nathi picks up on Agwene's shift immediately. "Soon, yes ... it feels, well ... like the final step in settling things for myself, and whatever children may come of it. The Emperor and I have known each other for a long, long time," she says, smiling quietly. "Far longer than either of us have been in our current positions of power. This is an odd move for people like us, I can't help but think, even if it makes sense." It was clear she was more than a little nervous about it, albeit for reasons quite likely not the ones possibly thought by others.

"The subject bothers you, yes?" she asks plainly. And your mother ... something wrong there, Agwene? And if so, is there any way I can help"

"Only if you can raise the dead, Nathi." The response is short, to the point, perhaps slightly curt. She's silent for a long moment after that, staring off into space. It might seem, at first, as though she doesn't intend to say anything more.

A good two minutes later, she speaks again. "It's just that I don't know how she died. If it was just the normal way...I miss her but it's not like she won't be back in ten years or so. It's a journey most of my people wind up taking at least once during their existence. But what if she was killed with..." She pauses, looking at Nathi. She feels like she can trust this woman, yet she can't remember why. Evidently deciding on caution for now, she backtracks slightly. "...killed in such a way that she cannot come back, that her soul is dead. Given the company there on Samhain, it is possible. I can't remember what happened. Merely that the next morning Danwyth and Sebben were dead and there was not the slightest sign of mother. You were there that morning, Nathicana. Do you...remember anything of note?"

"Target sighted," whispers Marko Salei, reaching up to adjust the optic enhancer over his eye. "Our mark appears to be conversing with an unidentified entity," he continues, scanning the villa intently. He looks down for a moment to note the guards' positions on his PDA. "Orders?"

Aros hooks in his weapon and steadies himself against the sheer face of the cliff. He checks his rifle to examine his PDA, where after a moment Marko's annotations make themselves visible. Gesturing with hand signals to his men, he taps his comm and whispers into it. "Hold your position for now. Make for rally on dispatch."

Aros clicked his own optical enhancer over his eye, idly tightening his grip on his checked pulse rifle as the sensor scanned for targets. He flashes two fingers at his nearest comrade, and gestured up over the clifftop to the left. "Hold for now. Sedate or eliminate the other woman as necessary, so Op Delta stay sharp. Op Alpha out."

Minutes passed. The air was thick with the sound of crickets as the men hung from their ropes on the uppermost part of the cliff. HW specialist Malik Kordiyeh was directly beneath Nathi and her companion on the cliff: Marko was the only one actually on the ground topside, some distance off to Nathi's left.

None of the men dared to move, or to make a sound. Until, of course, they heard the magic words. "Bravo, go," came the cue from Salei. In a flash, the five men had hoisted themselves up to where they could prop themselves up with their elbows on the ground, rifles at the ready. Kordiyeh effortlessly flings himself over the edge of the cliff underneath Nathicana. In an instant, his hand is up and over the wall, clutching at the woman, dragging her down towards him. His other hand is at the ready with a syringe containing a heavy dose of sodium pentethol, which he thrusts at the woman hopefully before she can make a sound...

Meanwhile, Marko stows his gear and rushes towards the secondary extraction point. "Meet you at rally, he whispers.

((Melkor, tgs))

It takes Agwene a moment to notice anything, still staring off a bit somberly. After that moment passes, she blinks, rushing towards the older woman. "Nathi!"

The High Queen reaches instinctively for her sword before realizing she's not wearing one. Taking a deep breath, she reaches towards Kordiyeh's hand, hoping to get it loose.

Nathi frowns at the name 'Sebben', and frowns further as the details come out. Something familiar about the whole thing seems to tickle at the back of her mind, which only infuriates her more when she can't put a finger on it. "I was ... rather distracted that morning," she admits, the memories of Edward sending a little shiver through her. There were of course the unexplained bruises ... "But I don't think I recall any--"

Movement registers out of the corner of her eye as she looks at Agwene in concern.

Too late.

A rough hand shoots up, an arm quickly wrapping around the back of her shoulder, grasping her at the back of the neck with an iron grip. Instincts kick in as she's pulled forward, throwing her shoulders and neck back as her right hand goes to grab at the hand holding her, the other pushing down against the rock wall for purchase. What strikes her immediately is the fact that her abductor's grip is as steady as her own, and her efforts do not yield the desired results. She kicks off with her feet and pushes off with her hand to keep herself from getting dragged roughly over the surface of it - and to hopefully give herself a bit of momentum and control as she rolls forward and over, out into empty air.

The next realization comes as she brings up her knee sharply, only to have it firmly shoved aside by his other arm. She balls up her fist, intending throws a punch at her attacker, which lands, but is foiled in its intended target as his other hand continues up and around her back to secure her. He jabs the hypodermic at her exposed jugular, which in turn is partially foiled by her resistance, some of the solution trickling down the outside of her neck rather than into it. She hisses at the burn of chemicals, the man grunts at her partially deflected blow ... and maintains his tight hold, as she continues to struggle, each one acting and countering in turn in a blur of motion.

Not right...oh fuck not right...too fast...too strong...

Agwene's call does not go unnoticed. Guards who had been sporadically observing the quiet courtyard snap their attention to where the two women have been standing, just in time to see Nathi's ankles disappear over the edge. In the time it takes for her and her opponent to exchange blows and struggle, mere moments have passed, and no more than the registering of alarm and the beginnings of movement and comms sending up the alert are managed, even moving at optimal speeds.

Unlike the strike team and their target, the guards are after all, only human.

Agwene does not stop her attempt to loosen the man's hand, pulling herself upwards as the man continues to pull at Nathi, prying at his fingers with all her strength. As the speed of their actions seem freakish, she mutters strange words that seem to slip past the ear unremembered, her own speed increasing. Her feet come off the ground as she attempts to get a purchase on the wall. She doesn't let go of the two as she tries to settle her hips atop the wall to stop the ascent.

Meanwhile, in the space beyond space, Powers resided.

In the swirling chaos of immortal Night - a night which it is sometimes rumored Illuvatar's intellect could not, or would not, penetrate - beings wholly and grotesquely separated rom the rest of Creation existed in a timeless nonexistence. Most were unconscious, unthinking, mindless spasms of fleeting shudders. A very few were thinking beings, beings which could be described as having life. But their thoughts and lives would rend the mind of any mortal, and was as incomprehensible to the languages and perceptions of the rest of the physical universe as anything could be.

These Powers had rarely shown interest in the affairs of mortals. If, indeed, rarity in time could be attributed to such beings, in their timelessly nonlinear state. In the linear realms, these Powers appeared only in dreams, or in the feverish imaginations and uniquely burning mentalists of the very few, or perhaps a few times, in known and unknown history.

But this barest of relationships could not make way for politics. Diplomacy and culture were out of the question. Even biological and chemical matters were incompatible, totally alien. Ardan history speaks of only one occasion, long ago, and the Power was named Ungoliant in the tongues of that land - but the being itself had no such name of it's own. Only one born of the Valar met with it and managed to attain what might have been mistaken (by foolish mortal thinking) as something akin to friendship. But that was long ago, and that Power was now dead in the physical realm, it's Essence exiled and dissipated.

However, the doors between could and did open, under circumstances understood by none. Common between the worlds was Essence, and Power, and when times of great, incomprehensible magnitude approached, the mortal minds of sentients could, like photoreceptive cells, sense the mergings of energies Beyond those known to reason. Powers high enough could certainly sense these rifts, gauging the myriad fluctuations of Thought and Reality.

But reason is not spawned of sensing alone, and to the meaning of it all none could tell.

The initial interference began as a small shuttle.

Old, but not to the point of dilapitation, it's configuration and type would confirm at as an old commercially purchased military space transport - possibly of Sunset make, possibly of some other industrial state. It's specific ID number is not evident, though a worn-out stencil script on the front reads "VATH" in faded, spotty black letters. It was, perhaps, part of a longer name which over time, atmospheric and space weathering has been withered and stunted.

It first appears on Ardan sensor networks between the Earth and Martian orbits; an unimportant, unarmed craft floating about Sol, one of perhaps hundreds of thousands.

Registering on ever-climbing levels of data and importance, the vessel is now clearly headed for Earth, and it's trajectory - simple, gravitic pseudo-ballistic - even gives a specific destination.

Angband.

[OOC: Anyone has any questions or points of discussion for me please use TGs.]

#tag#

The Orcs were gathering in the wilderness. Scout reports had been coming back for days now and the situation was just getting worse and worse. Overlord Ogan Sourn knew that soon, their numbers would be great enough to overrun the entirety of Nova Rhûn, probably starting with its capital.

The mood in the city of Rhûn was one of frantic preperation and general despair. The few civilians who saw it prudent to flee hadn't been heard from sense, and the marines and remaining civilians generally assumed they ended up as an Orc's lunch. It probably wasn't too much of a stretch. They couldn't be seen, yet, but everyone knew they were just over the horizon. En masse.

"So what have you seen?" asks Sourn, instinctively tightening his grip on the chainsword he was carrying.

"There's... thousands of them, my Lord," came the reply. "More come in every hour. It is clear that Morgoth intends to focus his efforts here. We can only hope Alkanphel's gambit pays off."

Sourn snorts. "Fury's Call is not a mere distraction for our foes," he asserts, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. "We are not doomed yet, we will yet cleanse these filthy beasts from our land. Go now, brother Sergeant, and rally our men to battle. We advance on the morrow."

***

The heavy rifles buzzed like a saw and near a dozen muzzle flashes illuminated the Dark Lord's throne room. The fallen diety had left only a token guard in his main chamber, it seemed. Alkanphel could tell as he cut down the cave trolls that Morgoth would have never guessed in a thousand years that the Maia would ever dare to steal his seeing stone. Soon, Alkanphel would be in posession of both the Orthanc stone and Morgoth's larger Osgiliath stone.

As the last of the trolls fell, Alatis cast his gaze to the enormous throne, on which the massive stone sat.

"How the fuck are we going to move that thing?"

"Slowly and carefully," answers the Maia, grunting as he climbed the enormous throne. Below him, his men checked and reloaded their weapons. "I'm going to push it off," he announces. "Its the only way we can get it down really. It'll be loud but this room is quite isolated. Just be ready to help me lift the thing and we can get out of here."

As promised, Alkanphel throws his weight against the stone and, dislodging it from its resting place, it plummets to the ground and cracks the stone floor with a resounding thud. Immediately the marines rush towards the device, leaning against it so as to prevent it from rolling. Alkanphel climbs down from the throne and wipes off his hands. "Right. Lets move."

***

Malik utters a string of curses as he slings the sedated Dread Lady over his shoulder, still wrestling with Angwene with his free hand. Aros' voice cuts through the comm, issuing some manner of order in the Black Speech. Quickly, the squad apothecary stows his weapon and draws another, smaller handgun looking device.

Levelling it at Angwene, he squeezes the trigger a few times in rapid succession. half a dozen small tranquilizer pellets are hurled through the air at the woman, as Malik drags her over the edge also.

With Nathi over his left shoulder and a struggling Angwene in his right arm, Malik hastens down the cliffside. "We've got another cap," he announces quietly over his comm. "Assess and plan at Rally."

Agwene's hand slips slightly as the marine pulls her downwards, her rump slipping from its perch on the wall. For six seconds, she's as fast as him, rapidly matching struggle for struggle, blow for blow, fighting to get Nathi free. No one knows that figure, of course. People don't measure magic with a stopwatch. But it is exactly six seconds and, when that six seconds is over, she's a flailing piece of baggage in his arms almost before she can blink, momentarily as helpless as any unaugmented, unarmed human woman might be.

She starts to speak, though the words seem to slip past the ear, the memory, and even scientific and magical recording devices. Power swirls around the words as she begins to cast the same spell once more and then dissipates as the incantation is interrupted by the strike of the pellets. Four hit. One in the left thigh, one in the side of her torso, one in the back of her neck, and one in her right forearm. For a brief moment, less than a second, but likely long enough for augmented eyes to note it, she seems almost more lively. Her body seems to snap into a furious alertness and that strange aura that no one can quite put their finger on seems more ominous, more foreboding. It looks for less than a second as though some new power is about to spring forth from her. But, just as quickly, that moment proves an illusion or an unfinished dream as she sinks into unconsciousness, lying prone and helpless in Malik's arm.

"I'll kill you ..." With her last moments of lucidity, Nathi tries to fight, the strong sedative pumped through her even faster by her frantic efforts. With a sick rubbery feeling that creeps over her limbs, she goes under, desperately trying to will her way past the drug's effects.

Within moments, the entire compound has been alerted, shouts are going up, soldati are scrambling, making their way as quickly as they can to whatever point along the cliffside wall they can get to. Weapons are brought to bear as feet pound across the pavers in the courtyard, or down the packed earthen path from the barn and yard beyond. Treznor-manufactured UV stun rifles are set to non-lethal levels and fired, multiple cracks echoing through the once sill night air as they fire at the retreating team, the sound like a dozen little lightning bolts going off in quick succession. Given the speed at which Malik and his team move, what few shots reach them have burned off most of their energy travelling through the air by the time they hit, leaving little more than a sharp sting and the lingering smell of ozone.

The word goes out over Spook, even as the small team disappears into the shadows along the cliff - the Lady has been taken.

Her Imperial Majesty's retinue pours, half-dressed, into the hallway of the villa. They watch the guard, slowly making their way to a vantage point where they can watch the shooting. They don't do or say anything. They've been trained too well for that. Never get in the way when security has to get a job done. It's true with the First Guard back home and its equally true with Dominion soldati.

It only takes a short while to realize that the imperatrice of the Domnion is gone. It takes a little longer to realize that their own high queen is gone with her. Still, the servants stand and watch the firing below, half-hoping the soldati will get their target, half-knowing it isn't very likely at this point.

After all the shooting is done and all the security messages have been sent, an older man approaches one of the officers. "Pardon me, sir. I think I need to call the embassy."

"We can arrange an escort for you to the embassy," the officer says, looking over the group, painfully aware of the implications in this situation, despite the apparent chaos surrounding them. "I think you'll be safest there, and best able to coordinate with your people. Per favore, if you will go inside until we have a group able to do so. There is a secure line in the Imperatrice's office, just upstairs and down the hall to the left. Please, Signore, inside. We're doing all we can."

A group of six soldati rig their own lines for scaling the cliff, and lacking harnesses, start to make their way down the long drop as best they can, well aware of the risk but knowing this could be their best chance.

Several miles away at the local base, forces are alterted and scrambled, the choppers going up immediately and making their way quickly towards the general area, coordinating search patterns between them as they go. Infrared scanners are brought online, sketchy details are relayed, all as efficiently as possible. Ground forces are organized, the quickest inroads are plotted ... unfortunately, even when operating at peak, which most seems to be, this all requires something they have precious little of.

Time.

In another part of the city, Cesare Calabrese is woken from his slumber by the ringing of his phone. With bleary eyes, he answers, muttering something about the ungodly hour. And he stops mid complaint, and listens, his blood running cold. His hesitation lasts only a moment as he leaps out of bed, already reaching for whatever clothing is most readily available and pulling it on as best he can as he snaps out his instructions.

"Get me all the information you can, and get it to my office. I'll be there in ten. Get hold of Ministers Ravanelli, Torino, and Pellegrino, have them meet me there, as well as Massetti. I want a line on Jacobian Sanguinus - let him know I need him. If he doesn't already know why, leave the explanation to me. Expect my line to be busy. I've a phone call to make."

Within moments he's heading out the door, and hopping into the small motor boat docked near his house, tearing out into the main canale and motoring towards the Piazza as fast as he can manage in the dark.

God help me if Devon's already set his dogs on me, the bastard.

The phone rings, waking him out of a deep sleep. He leans over, eyes still closed and picks up the phone. "Yeah."

"Majesty, I have a priority call from Chancellor Calabrese. He says it's urgent."

He opens his eyes, now thoroughly awake. "Patch him through."

He waits an agonising few seconds as the phone clicks before the connection is made. Then he hears Cesare's voice on the other line expressing barely-suppressed panic. "Il Dio, don't kill me! I didn't do it, I swear!"

"Do what, Cesare?" Treznor snaps. "What's happened?"

"Someone took her! They took Nathi! The guards fired on them, but they moved too fast, were too far away. She's gone, but I swear I didn't do it!"

Treznor thrust himself out of bed and turned on the lights. He began throwing clothes on haphazardly, muttering curses under his breath.

"All right, all right. I believe you. You didn't do it. So who did? Who were they?" And why didn't Nath rip them to pieces before they dragged her away?

"I don't know. The reports are sketchy, and it was off surveillance. The Imperatrice, she likes her walks, yes? She was in the garden talking to a friend, the queen of Resurgent Dream. The guards said someone came up from under the cliff and snagged them both, like ghosts. By the time they could get there, everyone was gone."

"You've locked down the borders and put your fleet on alert?"

"Madre de Dio, of course! We're sweeping the area now, and nothing is getting in or out. I haven't had time to hear back from the search teams, yet."

"Fine. You did the right thing. I'll be in the air shortly; have an escort ready for me. Tell no one else. You got that? Not the Triumvirate, not the NDA, no one. We don't know who took them, so we're not going to give anything away."

"But my instructions, I am to contact the FAE Council if she disappears."

Treznor stopped struggling with his pants briefly. "You know what she can do. How many people do you know could take her down so fast, Cesare?"

"Eh, maybe half a dozen organisations?"

"And how many of them are members of the Triumvirate?"

There was a pause. Then, "I will do as you ask."

"My shuttle will be approaching your airspace within the hour. Be ready."

The older man nods, leading the small group of servants. He wanders into Nathicana's office and picks up the phone. Despite the situation, he doesn't sit in the chair at the desk. Years of service become so ingrained one does not think of such things after a time. He takes a moment to recall the embassy number.

"Devras Embassy of the Empire of the Resurgent Dream. Rebecca Wilson speaking" a pert voice answers in perfect Italian. "How may I help you?"

"I need to speak to the ambassador." the old man answers, reverting to English.

In the same language, Wilson replies in a polite but slightly more curt tone "Her Grace is asleep."

"Wake her up." the man demands.

"Who is this?"

"This is Walter Matthews, Her Imperial Majesty's manservant. It is an emergency."

"Right." Rebecca answers sceptically, though she does wake the ambassador.

From there, it is only five minutes until the sleep deprived Duchess Olympia ni Ailil stands in an office full of ringing phones, shouting clerks, and flashing computer screens, ignoring all of them to listen to the rather irate voice on the phone, the Prime Minister's voice. "Yes, ma'am...Of course, ma'am...We don't have any information on that yet but, from what we've heard, I think the Imperatrice was likely the target and the High Queen was merely...Of course, ma'am...Can we really maintain that line, ma'am?....Understood."

Hanging up, Olympia turns back to her people. "Alright. We have orders. Don't break the story. If the Dominion does break the story, see if you can get them to simply report that Agwene is unaccounted for. We can make up something later if this goes on too long. If they don't, better for us. Tell them no one blames them and we consider ourselves brought closer together by a shared tragedy. I know it sounds cheesy but it's better than diplomatic squabbling when there's more important things to do. The Prime Minister wants to say it to Callabrese personally. She wants to get a line sometime in the next twenty-four hours. Aside from our embassy security, we're really relying on the Dominion here. Our nearest fleet is seventy-two hours away at top speed. I'm not taking any calls about anything but this today. I need my lines clear."

As Olympia finishes speaking, there's a loud chorus of "Yes, Your Grace." "Of course, Your Grace." "As ordered, Your Grace." Immediately, a half-dozen buerocrats from the embassy were calling a half-dozen local beurocrats to get across the official position and make all ordered arrangements.

Antanamir halts his team, bringing them to a stop as he raises a fist, swiftly removing his helmet as he reaches down to his canteen with his other hand. Even with their augs, making tracks across hostile territory while wearing full hardsuits was something of an ordeal, especially considering their cargo. Malik shifts his weight back and forth, the sedated Imperatrice still slung over his left shoulder. "She should be waking up soon, I wager," he guesses.

The Sergeant sits down on a rock, also removing his helmet. "This is where it gets fun," he says, grinning broadly.

Aros checks his weapon and nods. "We'll stop here and take a quick break, but we've got to get going soon. I don't want to have to camp for at least another eight hours if I can help it."

The sound of voices, the shift and scratch of armor gradually bleed through the haze in Nathi's head, the sensation of movement making her stomach clench, and worsening as it stops. Even through the drug-induced fog, she has the presence of mind to keep still and limp as she tries to get her bearings, at first, just listening.

Antanamir furrows his brow. "Search her," he commands, eyeing the Dread Lady. "I suppose we've got time to do it now. Make sure she doesn't have any weapons or comm devices or whatnot. I think the soldati are far enough behind at this point..." he guesses, squinting off into the distance.

Malik nods. "Of course," he says simply, reaching up with his other arm to lift Nathi off his shoulder. Laying her on the ground, he kneels and starts to pat her down. After a moment, he looks up to his commander. "Nothing sir. At least, nothing I can find in this manner. All she seems to have on her is a few pieces of jewlery." Lifting up the pendant, he whistles. "Holy shit, where'd she get this?"

Nathicana lays quietly, focusing on breathing just as evenly as she had before, her head still swimming, her limbs feeling like lead. As Malik comes across the pendant, however, she gasps and grabs his wrist with one hand, the other trying to snatch back the pendant. Her blue eyes snap open, glaring at him furiously as she starts trying to move away. "Stronzo di merda!" she manages between clenched teeth.

Malik is surprised.... for a half a second or so. Quickly the surprise is replaced with the much more familiar 'anger' and he reaches down swiftly with two massive, gauntleted hands, and pins her to the ground. "She's up," he notes dryly, a smirk spreading across his face. "Good morning!" he says cheerily to Nathi. "Sleep well?"

Two things become readily apparent. One, the man is huge. Two, he has both the advantage of position, and is stronger than she is, nevermind the dulling effect from the drugs. No panic. No ranting. Focus.

"Who are you?" she asks, eyes flickering over his armor, glancing at whomever else she can see, trying to find any point of reference while she remains tense, but refrains from making any provocative movements.

Aros and the squad Sergeant stride over to Nathi, standing on either side of her as Malik's grin broadens. "I'm Santa Claus," he answers with a laugh. "Or not, but that's about as close to the truth as you're going to get. You think we'd make it that easy? Give us some credit here."

Aros clears his throat, kneeling to scrutinize this pendant. "Where did you get that?"

I'll bloody well give you credit you bastard, with my knee in your ... Nathicana smiles humorlessly, not about to let these men see her cowed. "Whoever you are, you're dead men walking," she says in a deceptively smooth voice, fighting back the sick feeling she has in her stomach from the drugs. "I've had that pendant for years," she lies easily. "The elves thought it fitting, and as I'm partial to the motif ..."

She attempts a shrug, as if to say 'it's of no matter', and leaves it at that, still eyeing them challengingly.

Malik's hand bolts swiftly to Nathi's face, and he curls his fingers behind her jaw, thrusting her face up to his. "We will not suffer lies," he says with a scowl. "Nor threats. Not here, not from you. You're not in a position to make threats, best to leave that to us. Now we will ask you one more time. Where did you get that?"

Nathicana glares at Malik stubbornly, taking a brief moment to focus herself as best she can manage under the circumstances. Taking advantage of his shifting his weight and releasing one shoulder, she yanks her knees up to her chest, and kicks out at him with everything she has, hoping to throw him off. Her free hand comes up swift and hard, releasing the dirt she'd quietly pulled in at his eyes, her fingers immediately curling in to claw at his face.

Malik's bulk easily halts the Lady's attempt to dislodge him, and he lets the dirt hit. He's blinded for a moment, but it doesnt seem to faze him too much as she's still fairly restrained under him. His hand lets go of her jaw, and he cocks his arm back with frightening speed, bringing his gauntlet across Nathi's face. Aros and the Sergeant laugh a bit as the Southron climbs to his feet, hauling Nathi up with him. He holds her up off the ground and thrusts her against a nearby tree, his face red with rage as he shakes the dirt out. "Don't do that again," he says quietly. "You will not like what happens." His hand moves to her throat and he straightens his arm as he lifts her against the tree. "Three Strikes, Nathicana. Where did you get that?"

Nathicana yelps at the blow, thanking God for the bone-lacing Shodey bestowed her with even as her vision blurs momentarily on account of the force behind it. Pain wracks her again as she's roughly shoved up against the tree, coughing out a mouthful of blood as the breath is forced out of her. She pries desperately at his hands as she struggles against the iron grip currently bruising her throat. "I told you, it was a gift," she manages to choke out.

"Gift?" He answers quietly, letting her down a bit and loosening his grip. But not too much. "Good, now we're getting somewhere. "From whom?"

Nathicana balances on her toes, trying to keep as much pressure off her throat as possible. "I told y--" she starts, a wave of nausea rolling over her as she painfully spits out more blood. "I'm going to be sick," she admits in a quavering yet clearly angry tone, the color draining from her face.

The enormous Southron snorts. "Fuck it," he says simply. He seizes the pendant and pulls it off, snapping the chain as he does. Without looking away, he hands the trinket off to Aros, who peers at it with no small amount of interest.

The Sergeant draws his canteen and offers it to her. "Oh come now, we can't have you dropping on us," he says with a grin. "If we'd wanted you dead or incapacitated we'd have done so already."

Malik lets her down as Aros thrusts his hands forward and affixes a collar-like device to her throat. "Can't have you running off either." The men laugh again as Aros turns and rouses the Apothecary and the other agent. "Lets get going," he says simply.

Nathicana bites back another cry of pain, still gasping sharply as Malik takes the pendant. She struggles unsuccesssfully as Aros attaches the collar, her legs finally going rubbery, her hand reaching out belatedly for the canteen and missing as she drops to her knees and promptly empties her stomach just as she'd warned. I know this effect ... sweet Jesu, how much did they load me up with? Can't let them dose me again like that.

Quickly the apothecary rises to his feet and hastens to where Malik and Nathi sit, drawing a handful of capsules from his satchel. "Take these," he commands, taking Sarge's canteen as well. "It'll eliminate your nausea."

Aros can't help but laugh a bit, and he puts his helmet back on and checks his weapon. "What about that ring?" he notes, gesturing idly towards Nathi. Malik squints at it, reaching for his helmet with one hand, and seizing her wrist with the other. "Looks like she's engaged, boss," he says with a grin.

"I wouldn't be sick if you hadn't dosed me so heavily," she mutters, wiping at her mouth gingerly with the back of her hand, which is promptly jerked away by Malik. She looks up at him sharply, first yanking at her hand, then throwing her weight back as she tries to pull away, her alarm for once clear in her expression. "Don't." The word comes out more a plea than a command.

"Pfft." Malik seizes her again and pulls the ring off. "That isn't going to be happening any time soon," he comments with an ominous smirk. Cocking his arm back, he prepares to throw it, but is stopped by Aros, who quickly seizes Malik's wrist. "Leave nothing behind, he commands in the Black Speech. "Not a trace."

Malik hesitates, and nods after a time, rising to his feet again. "Right then, lets get going."

Nathicana lets out the breath she'd been holding as Aros stops Malik from throwing the ring off to God knows where. The look she shoots him is one of pure malice, however. She refuses the capsules, instead settling just for some of the water. She doesn't blink as she struggles to her feet and dabs at her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater, eyes still fixed on the gargantuan man. I'll kill you myself, she vows silently. I'll make you squeal and curse in vain that I know how to do it so slowly.

The HA satellite idly swung in its lazy low orbit around the life bearing globe which had spawned the human race. Conflicts, battles, each was recorded and transmitted to be analyzed. Thousands upon thousands of still images, what would have been miles of footage in the days of actual film. Sixty-four images a second at a centimeter to a pixel resolution in a flat display.

But the holographic cameras were considerably improved over that day and age. And they had no onboard storage, they merely transmitted information to Intelligence Division's central databanks to be taken apart at put back together by a few hundred humans and fifty fully sentient EI. The heart of TacNet lay there, and in Central Command.

And as it moved, the data streamed in from the surface, and the air below it.

<<Aircraft departing Arda. Tracking data lost. Out of sector.

Unfortunately, TacNet's coverage was not one hundred percent all the time, and the object was gone.

A few hours later, another satellite noticed the Dominion fleet. Heat coronas, visible personnel movements. Life at sea. IDEID came to the conclusion that it was an exercise. The humans, for the most part, agreed. Some did not, and all the conclusions would be presented to Cortana.

She resolved to wait on more data, because nothing she had currently made any sense, but a few extra satellites were tasked with covering the Dominion. Cortana had a problem with not knowing things. It upset her.

"Target spotted!" The dull thud of booted feet pound through the underbrush towards the figure laying curled up on the ground. "Is she ..." One of the soldati kneels down as the rest spread out, searching. He gently places fingertips against her throat, feeling for a pulse, suspicions confirmed by the slight rise and fall of her chest, barely noticeable in the gloom. "It's the Queen. She's alive. No obvious signs of trauma."

Agwene's eyes open slowly at the touch. She murmurs faintly, something hard to make out, before she opens her eyes completely. "Where's the Imperatrice?"

"Your Majesty," the man says quietly, "Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?" Around them, the others relay their findings back and forth, assuring that the area is secure. There is no sign of the perpetrators.

"I'll be fine." Perhaps sooner than she should, Agwene starts to stand. She stumbles a little on still half asleep legs, leaning on one of the guards a moment before managing to get fully upright.

"Easy now, your Majesty. Easy. Lets get you to the chopper, then you can tell us what happened," he says, more concerned with getting her out of there and safely back than with introductions and pleasantries. He offers whatever assistance she needs, along with one of the others, who gently wraps a blanket around her shoulders, both of them watching her closely for any signs of distress.

Of course she looks distressed. Her friend just got kidnapped. But she doesn't look like she's about to fall over anymore, wrapping the blanket around herself and walking with them. "I take it from the silence that you don't know."

He shakes his head, his brow furrowed as they walk towards the chopper. "We're hoping you can help give us some leads, if you can," he admits, looking none to pleased about it. "They were able to cover a frightening amount of ground given the time, and ..." He stops, shaking his head again.

Agwene climbs into the chopper, frowning. "I was talking to Nath...the Imperatrice, when she was attacked by someone moving preternaturally fast. I cast an enchantment on myself to match his speed for a moment and went over after him to try and get her free. I got hit with darts of some kind in the attempt and that's the last I remember until now."

"Scopa," he mutters. "I ah ... perdon your Majesty. Any description, any details you can remember?" He helps get her secured as another chopper passes overhead. Two others of the team get aboard, signalling the pilot to take off.

"Looked human, male. A formidable warrior." she answers. "I can't remember much more."

The man nods, offering her a canteen. "Your people have been frantic," he says quietly as they take to the air, and swiftly make their way back towards Devras. "I'm certain they will be most pleased to see you safe." While he speaks, one of the others relays word to the cockpit, who in turn, relays the information back to the waiting Ministers and the other search parties.

She takes the water, drinking deeply and eagerly before pulling it back. "Do you need to tell them I went after the guy? I'm sure my security chief will be rather cross with me."

He shakes his head. "We'll let you handle the details. All they need to know from us is that you're safe."

"Thank you." She smiles a little, handing him the canteen back. "Where are we going now?"

"Straight back to base, and from there to your embassy, so long as you're well enough, as you claim," he confirms. "We are terribly sorry for your ordeal, your Majesty."

"You shouldn't be sorry." She looks out, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop him. I should have been..." she shakes her head a little. "I failed."

The man gives her an odd look, clearly unsure of just what such a delicate beauty could have possibly done in such a situation - magic or no. "The fault is not yours, my Lady. We are the ones who failed to keep you, and our Imperatrice safe. It is unforgiveable."

Agwene pauses, still looking out the window, thinking. "It's hard to explain."

He arches a brow. "If you say so, your Majesty, though I hardly know what you could have been expected to do."

She frowns slightly, aura flaring slightly before it stills and she looks back out the window.

Settling back into his seat, the man shifts uncomfortably, glancing out to check their progress, and breathing a quiet sigh of relief as they start descending, coming in for their landing.

Agwene breathes in a little. She might have the almost murderous warrior rage that burns in every Gwydion heart but she's not her aunt. She's better. She can control it. "I'm sorry," is all she says aloud.

"No need for apologies, your Majesty," the man murmurs as the wheels touch down and the craft settles. "Please, let us assist in getting you to the car."

Agwene nods, allowing the men to help. "Of course. Thank you kindly."

The soldati carefully help her out of the harness, then down out of the chopper, hurrying her to a waiting armored limousine, both accompanying her. The first man bangs his fist once against the roof of the car once they're all inside, and it speeds away, several military vehicles accompanying it both in front and behind, while Agwene quietly sits in the limousine, not speaking further unless addressed.

The two men sit in uncomfortable silence as the motorcade makes its way to the Resurgent Dream embassy, pulling into the compound before coming to a halt. Armed soldati quickly exit the other vehicles and take up position around the limo. Once in position, the door is opened, and those in the car assist Agwene in stepping out.

"Your Majesty," the first man says with a respectful bow.

The High Queen nods to the man, walking to the door. She takes the rather large sword from one of the troll guards and takes the leather pouch he wears on his belt, hefting it. This unsettles the Dominion folk to some degree, all of them watching her with growing alarm.

She tosses the pouch into the air, bringing the sword up and cutting it in four quarters as it falls in one seemless, almost instant motion, faster than most humans could raise a hand. She then hands the sword back to the troll. "Let me know if there's any news."

"O--of course, your Majesty," the nameless soldati says firmly, giving the others the signal to load up and head out. "I am informed that Chancellor Calabrese will wish to meet with you later, should you be up to it. Again, my apologies my Lady."

"Of course. After that, I need to take a flight home to manage the emergency, however." By this, she means go on a foolish quest to try and find Nathi but ... close enough.

"He shall be notified, then." Another respectful yet brief bow, and the man gets into one of the other vehicles, and the motorcade heads off again, further reports flying over QE channels to the main office where Cesare is already in meetings with the Ministry. Agwene turns without a word and walks inside.

"No, no further reports. They seem to be taking advantage of the deep cover, and the sheer scope of the area required for the search is broad. We've no idea which direction they're heading, though efforts have been more heavy towards the coast. It is the most obvious retreat for getting out quickly," Torino reports, his tone crisp, his expression dark.

Calabrese slams his fist down against the table, swearing vehemently. "And the satelites - we have people reviewing those for any signs? They have advanced scopes out on the searching choppers? And aerospace support - we have that online as well?"

"It all takes time, Cesare - you know this. We're doing all we can, believe me. It's been an hour, granted, but what forces were able to be scrambled immediately have, and we're adding to the forces both on and off the ground as we speak, within reason. There is always the matter of logistics. Even with Spook it's a challenge. Currently we're trying to shut down the coast first in the most likely areas first while we spread out the search. If all goes well, we'll have them caught between our forces when it's all said and done," the Defense Minister replied as patiently as he could.

"What the fuck were your people doing up there?" Jas mutters through a cloud of clove-scented smoke, glaring over at Massetti, who uncharacteristically glares back with no small amount of challenge.

"Operating under the orders my people were saddled with, and pressing just as far as they could even then without her taking their heads off for daring to be seen by her while they worked to protect her," he shoots back. "I've not seen you going out of your way of late, old man."

"Not my fuckin' job, boy," Jas replies, unfazed. "Not this go 'round. You know the score. Much as I'd be pleased keeping her on that throne o' hers, we're contract only. Yer boss there's put us on the job, and we'll damn well do it, but make no mistake - when it all comes down to it, we're businessmen, not babysitters, not best friends, and we don't work off the clock."

"Gentlemen, if you please," Evangelista says, with more force than they are used to hearing from her. "We have the Emperor on his way, the emmissaries from the Resurgent Dream are in a taking over the disappearance of their High Queen, there has been no sign of either her or Nathicana, and we have yet to ask any others of our allies for support or assistance.Yet here you sit, squabbling. This isn't accomplishing anything."

Pellegrino leans forward sharply, his usual soft-spoken demeanor gone. "Neither are long-winded summations. I realize you dislike it Evangelista, but the fact remains, there are few nations out there that both have the access and the tech to pull this off so smoothly. Several of which happen to be those same allies. Until we know more, or say, rule out those possibilities entirely, we say nothing - protocol be damned."

Arguments and counter-arguments continue for some time, each with this or that point to elaborate on, each with opinions on how they should proceed, none wishing to admit just how vulnerable they had been proven.

Torino finally stiffens, holding up a hand for silence as he puts a hand against his ear to better listen to the commlink reciever there. "They've found Agwene, several miles to the southeast."

The room erupts again in frenzied talk and questions with Torino slapping his palm against the table in a wordless demand for silence as he rises quickly from his seat. "The woman is unharmed, was unconscious when they came across her, and claims to have nothing useful to assist with in means of tracking the bastards down. It seems she was sedated. Likelihood that the Queen was slowing their progress and was left of necessity. The search is being concentrated along the most likely lines in that direction on account."

"I don't care how sedated she was or how little she claims to know," Calabrese interjects. "I wish to speak with Agwene. The sooner, the better." He keeps his thoughts of their possible involvement silent ... as well as the suspicion eating at his gut over Treznor and the unlikely but not impossible implications there. Until proven otherwise, no one was to be ruled out.

Not even those closest to her.

Malik flashes Nathi a grin as the dropship hits a patch of turbulence, causing the men to rock back and forth in their seats. Antanamir climbs into the main cabin from the cockpit and deposits a datapad on a nearby ledge. "We're almost home, boys." He grins at Nathi. "Hope you're ready, my Lady. You've got quite a day ahead of you." The men laugh. This is all very amusing. "Ever been to Angband?" asks Sarge.

Nathicana clenches her jaw, chin tilting up in that imperious way she has despite her current condition. She glares back in stony silence, trying to steel herself for the ordeal ahead. Without being able to remove this collar ... I won't get ten steps. Previous attempts had literally driven her to her knees for proof of that.

The march had been rough, much of it spent with her slung unceremoniously over the shoulder of one of the tream as they beat a heavy, steady pace to their desintation. She hadn't seen any sign of Agwene, and she feared for the worst there. The few choppers and signs of pursuit that had gotten close had been carefully avoided, not unlike the ways she had avoided such pursuits nearly a year ago, albeit with more readily available tech, not to mention, coordination from their spotters.

The collar had proven to be an effective device, and one that she little desired to experience again. The two times she had managed to scramble away from her abductors, she had gotten no more than ten meters away before it delivered an agonizing shock that left her screaming and retching, as did her attempts to remove the cursed thing.

She had no idea how they managed to elude Dominion patrols once on board the shuttle (which she noticed was not a model familiar to her as belonging to the Five Kingdoms), though there had been talk of a distraction and misdirection. Still, she held on to the hope that they would be intercepted or forced down. The longer their flight remained steady however, her resolve had begun to fade.

Malik scoots a bit closer to Nathi, and jokingly throws a beefy arm around her shoulders. "Oh, I love it when you get all indignant like that." The men laugh again. "It's so sexy," he says with a wink. "Come on, you don't have anything to say? After all the time we spent together? I'm hurt."

She stiffens, silently cursing herself as she flinches when he presses against her. "Don't touch me," she says between clenched teeth, roughly trying to shove him back from her as she moves to scoot away.

Malik grins mischievously and arches a brow at Aros, who cracks a grin. "God damn, man," he mutters, shaking his head as he pushes his way into the cabin. "You do too good a job with this."

Sarge leans across the cabin and claps Malik on the shoulder. "ETA 20 minutes. We're gonna go do some post landing prep, you keep an eye on our... guest." He winks at Nathi. "We'll want her in good shape to meet the Boss, after all."

Options, limited. Possible outcomes, looking steadily more unpleasant. As the minutes had gone on, and the relative safety of the Dominion had been left behind, for the first time in a long while, Nathicana had begun to lose hope. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes until I'm firmly behind enemy lines. So much I'm leaving unfinished, unprotected ...goddammit, I have to try.

She throws herself forward towards the cockpit, hoping for a last ditch effort to foul the flight. If nothing else, to bring it crashing down before they can land safely. Better that than the alternative.

Unfortunately, Malik reacts faster than her, as if anticipating her intent. A hand darts out and secures itself around her neck, a finger hooking under that collar, in just enough time to halt her forward momentum. "Sit," he commands, thrusting her back into her designated seat. "Don't piss me off," he warns simply. "You won't like what happens."

This isn't the first time in her life she's been treated roughly, though those incidents were far, far in her past. She knows well enough that once you believe yourself beaten you are. She also knows nothing he can do to her can compare to the horror stories she's heard of his Master and the torments most likely awaiting her at his hands. Given that, she fights wildly, striking at the weakest points on his armor or at his face with the desperation of someone who is realizing they've nothing left to lose.

"Oh for the love of ..." starts Malik, shifting towards her as he pulls her arms behind her back and secures her wrists with a massive hand. With the other, he fumbles for any manner of restraining device he can find, coming up with a short length of rather nasty looking chain, which he promptly affixes to her wrists. "Now cut it out, damn it."

Nathicana curses hatefully in her native language and impulsively spits in Malik's face, still struggling, relying more on her feet as she tries to wrest her hands free.

Detached amusement gives way to rage as she spits on him, promptly striking her forcefully across the face with his gauntlet. "Fuck it," he scowls. "I've had enough." He stands hastily, and hauls Nathi up with him, hooking the slack in her chain to an outcropping on the ceiling apparently devised for that very purpose.

Her heels dangle a few inches off the ground, far enough so she could possibly gain some purchase on the very tips of her toes, but any attempt at meaningful movement proves fruitless. Malik cracks his neck as he strolls around behind her, steadying himself with her body as the ship hits another patch of turbulence. "I've been waiting for an excuse to do this since I saw your dossier," he begins ominously. An audible thud can be heard as his chestplate falls to the ground, and his shadow looms over her. "It didn't have to come to this, but fuck it, I'm glad it did," he continues, with a grin she can almost feel.

The woman chokes back a pained sob at the blow, her vision blurring temporarily, again tasting blood in her mouth. She blinks, dazed for the few moments it takes him to loop the chain over and move behind her. The weight of his words pushes through the haze, the implications making her blood run cold. He wouldn't dare. That son of a bitch wouldn't ...

Of course the initial indignation and shock doesn't discount the fact that the man can, and has, done whatever he pleased so far with frightening ease. Her last chance at a somewhat redeeming death gone, she has no desire to make whatever make whatever time was left any worse than it already is.

"Malik," she begins, closing her eyes to focus on keeping her tone steady, on not thinking about her position, or the throbbing pain spreading across her face. "You're a warrior. You understand the concept of not going down without a fight. At least grant me that much respect." She pauses, working on breathing slow and steady. "Please."

The hulking Southron pauses for a moment, his shadow still as he ponders his response. Then he pulls her closer. "Fair enough," he whispers in her ear. "I wouldn't expect any less from one in your position," he continues, one hand sliding up under her shirt. "But you're going down. Good fight."


*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***


Malik grunts as he climbs up a particularly sheer section of rock on Thangorodrim's southern face, an ominous figure slowly becoming visible in the soot-filled air above them. Heaving Nathi over the edge, Aros grabs her and hauls her up the next leg as Malik climbs over the edge. "Almost there!" Announces the Captain cheerfully. "Uh oh. Doesn't look like he's in a good mood."

Is he ever in a good mood? Nathi wonders, sensing a panicked sort of irrational giggle threatening to well up.

Every jarring step had been a new excercise in pain, and humiliation, again being tossed about like a sack of grain. Malik had been anything but gentle, and while nothing seemed to be broken, the bruises he'd inflicted were more than enough to elicit pained gasps. The man certainly knew his work, and made no bones about having a taste for it.

For all of it.

Feeling empty and sick inside, she tries at least to get her bearing, slung as she was over Aros' shoulder, her now bare skin having no protection from further scrapes as they make their ascent.

Aros drops Nathi unceremoniously at the Fallen Vala's feet, the men standing at rigid attention. "As promised, my Lord. We have recovered the Dread Lady with no loss, and without a single shot fired. The Mission was a complete success in every conceivable sense of the word," Aros reports dutifully. "With your permission, we will now take our leave."

Malik grins and blows Nathi a kiss as the men are dismissed with a grunt by Morgoth, who peers down at the Dread Lady intently. "Stand," he commands simply, fully aware of the difficulty this task entails at this point. "I have some questions for you."

Nathicana bites back her curse as she hits the ground, shooting Malik a look of undisguised hatred which slowly slips from her face as she looks up ... and up ... and up at the Lord of Angband. Whatever stories she had heard, whatever reports she had tried to gain over the years, could not have prepared her for this. Initial thoughts of illusion and trickery fade quickly under his gaze, the weight of his terrible will beating against her brow.

She struggles shakily to her feet, fixing her gaze on an indistinct point somewhere beyond the Vala, repeating soothing mantras in her mind, drawing on favorite passages, songs, anything to try and help steady herself as she shivers in spite of the heat.

Silence lingers for a moment as he studies her. The Balrogs on either side of him follow his gaze down to the woman, and the flames on their bodies flare a bit when the Dark Lord finally speaks again. "Just what did you think you were going to accomplish, hmm? Did you honestly expect to cast me down, be it through Alkanphel or some other medium?" He snorts. "Treznor couldn't do it, then why not Alkanphel, was that it?"

Nathi shivers again at the sound of his voice, firmly keeping her gaze off the monstrosities that flank the Vala, not daring for now to try and meet his gaze. Her voice cracks at first as she tries to speak, her throat tight with fear and dry from the unnatural air of the place. "I have never plotted to overthrow you," she finally manages, her voice sounding much smaller than she had hoped, her legs feeling like rubber. "I had nothing to do with that unfortunate mess with Treznor. I have been useful, have assisted your efforts."

"True," he concedes with a nod. "In the past. I had indeed hoped to.. strengthen our ties, yet you insisted in taking counsel with the puny fools who continue to defy me." Leaning down, he thrusts his face in near hers. "See where it leads? See now how empty their words have been? All the promises of protection, the blessings of 'family?'" He pounds his hammer against the bare rock angrily. "They mean nothing!" he roars.

"These words and empty promises likely led you to believe too strongly in your invincibility, and I'm quite sorry that I have to be the one to knock you down. I don't believe for a second that you had nothing to do with that 'unfortunate mess,' and you know it."

"Surely you have to know by now of my famous capacity for holding a grudge," he laughs. "At least now I can get back to the more important ones. At least, when Alkanphel predictably comes to your rescue and I can put him down once and for all."

Nathicana instinctively closes her eyes as he leans in close, flinching back, raising her hands as if to ward off a blow as he raises his voice and lets his hammer fall loudly. "We have never shared all our councils," she insists truthfully, her voice shaking and shrill. She feels her stomach drop as the Vala mentions Alkanphel, and her now obvious purpose in all this, casting about for something, anything to say that might help. "There is no need for this! No point! You have needed us, needed me!" Sadly, she comes up short.

"No need indeed," he snorts. "You created this need. Either that or Alkanphel did. It is no matter to me, I shall see this ... problem resolved shortly enough." Turning, he gestures to one of the Balrogs, who rushes at her a moment later with a large set of irons, which are hastily and painfully applied to Nathi's limbs, affixing her firmly to the massive mountain's southern face.

"This final task of your existence shall be carried out independent of your will to do so," he announces. "Here you shall remain until the end of your days, and here you will witness the end of your future." He scowls. "And his."

The raven-haired woman screams as the Balrog leaps forward, shrieking in pain and terror. This was not how it was all supposed to end. Of all the possibilities she had ever imagined or feared, this had never come into play. Her family - the children, Devon, Shodey. Alkanphel - his bid for rule now seeming a vain, foolhardy dream, and one that she had worked quietly to inspire and encourage. Her friends, her people, her nation ... none of which she would now ever see again.

She struggles to no avail, trying with all her might to pull free, fighting off the rising flood of dispair washing over her as Morgoth Bauglir gloats, knowing full well that her own actions had lead her to this. One statement stands out in her mind with crystaline clarity. 'You will witness the end of your future'. Her frenzied sobs eventually begin to change, until after some time it becomes clear that irrational laughter born from a mind pushed to its breaking point is mixing in with the tears.

"Witness the end?" she yells, her voice shrill with hysteria. "I'll tell you what end I've witnessed, you fucking son of a bitch! I have seen your fall! Your end! And that, oh mighty Vala, is a vision I will take with me laughing to my grave!"

It didn't matter that it was a lie. She had seen many things she could not understand, regardless, but with nothing else to loose, she could not help one last desperate act of defiance.

Agwene, now dressed properly, sits in a small, comfortable room with Duchess Olympia. Cesare is shown in by one of the human staff. "Anything I can get you, sir?"

Cesare Calabrese walks briskly into the room, his manner one of expediency and efficiency. He bows crisply to Agwene with a quick "Your Majesty," before taking a chair opposite the High Queen. "Nothing, thank you. Please, accept the apologies of myself, and my government for your harrowing experience. I realize you have been through quite a bit, and will try to keep this as brief as possible."

Agwene nods. "And please accept the sympathy and support of our government during this tragedy."

Olympia leans forward slightly. "What can we do to assist you, Chancellor?"

"Much appreciated, your Majesty," he replies, then turns to the Duchess. "Your Grace, now that your Queen has been recovered, the thing that would be of best service would be to keep this entire incident as quiet as possible. No news releases, no communications to allies - no other nation ought know what has transpired here until we can get a better understanding of the situation."

His dark eyes fix her firmly. "If it please your Grace, your discretion and silence on this matter is what we request."

Olympia nods. "We were gong to ask the same thing of you, in fact. This is...not the kind of thing one likes to get out."

"Indeed not, though we have other considerations aside from image alone," he says truthfully. "Your consideration is appreciated. Be assured we will return the service in kind."

The ambassador nods again. "Of course." She pauses a moment, considering his statement. "Though, the implications of that are rather troubling."

Cesare arches a brow slightly, shifting to a more comfortable position in his chair. "Concerns, your Grace?" he asks simply.

Olympia shrugs lightly. "It is a situation worthy of concern."

"Quite," the man says, then turns to Agwene. "Your Majesty, if there is anything, anything at all you can remember from the incident," he begins, anxious to get any additional information. "Even the smallest details could be of assistance."

Agwene pauses, thinking a moment. "They were definitely human. I believe they were enhanced somehow. They were wearing black body armor."

Cesare's eyes narrow at that, and he nods. "Anything else come to mind? Markings, language, anything?"

"I remember...a little red in the markings. I didn't recognize the language."

Calabrese runs a hand back through his neatly-cut black hair, letting out a slow breath. "Black and red ... Gods, our own colors, those, and I know damn well it wasn't an inside job." He says this firmly, leaving no question as to his belief of the truth of that statement. "Many use black. Too many. Is there anything else, your Majesty?"

Agwene shakes her head. "Not that I can remember. It was very fast and very dark."

"Of course, of course," the man says, trying not to let his frustration show. "If I may, I was told you wished to leave soon. Just how soon is 'soon', your Majesty?"

"As soon as possible." Agwene answers simply. "Meaning as soon as I can no longer be of use here."

"If it wouldn't be too much to ask," he begins, then pauses before continuing. "I would count it a personal favor if you would remain for a while yet. One never knows what details might come to light once you've had more time to rest and gather your thoughts. Out of curiousity, what had you up and about at that hour of the night?"

"The Imperatrice was awake and seemed distraught about something. I sought to comfort her."

Olympia sits back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. "I agree with the Prime Minister. You should stay awhile."

Agwene sighs lightly. "We should show him the map to...explain."

Cesare nods thoughtfully, wisely keeping his musings to himself. "She often is up late for one reason or other," he says by way of explanation. "Now--" He pauses as Agwene mentions the map, then continues more sharply than he intends. "What map?"

"The reason need to go. Beyond that, it doesn't really effect you but...you can see it." Olympia rises and peeks her head out the door before sitting back down. Agwene nods. "It should be here shortly."

Clearly this doesn't provide the answers he wants, and his expression shows it. He stiffens slightly, glancing over to Olympia as if waiting for armed guards to step in at any moment.

A few minutes later, a staffer comes in and hands Agwene a map which she spreads out on a table. It seems to be of an is;and the same shape as the Resurgent Dream but with a very different landscape. In a southern territory marked as Garmar, a number of small swords and horses have been drawn on the map.

After the man leaves, Agwene explains. "This is the dreaming adjacent to the Empire. It's like...an adjacent plane, I suppose. These marks down here..." she gestures to the markings in Garmar "...all represent unidentified troop sightings, presumed hostile."

Calabrese arches a brow as he looks over the map, not relaxing in the least. His expression looks doubtful all the same, though he nods, allowing Agwene to continue.

Agwene looks up, arching a brow faintly. "Olympia, could you leave us alone for a moment?" The Duchess nods, rising and slipping out the door.

He watches the woman leave, then turns to Agwene with a questioning look. "Something you cannot discuss in front of the Duchessa your Majesty?"

"Nothing you say leaves this room. You have my word on that. Now, I want you to be brutally honest with me for a moment. Is possible future help the only reason you want me to stick around?"

The chancellor purses his lips, then sits back in his chair, studying the young woman for a moment before replying. "Brutaly honest, your Majesty? You were the last one to see the Imperatrice alive. I would rather have you stay until we find her one way or another if I had my way. Truth? We know less about your people than we would like, and while I mean no disrespect, the ... abilities your countrymen posess are a concern."

He holds up a hand to try and forestall hasty words. "I do believe that your memory may improve with time, and that you may have additional information that the stress of the moment has probably driven from your mind. I also believe in keeping all the pieces where I can see them when possible."

Agwene nods slightly. "I understand the position you are in. However, I am also looking at a rather major war in the next few days. It is not the kind of thing I can avoid dealing with for the sake of diplomacy or even friendship."

"I understand that also, your Majesty. As well as the fact that I have no right to hold you here. I ask that you stay as long as you can within reason, and offer me at least a ready means of communication with you as well as your assurances that your people will be quietly watching their own. I cannot afford to discount any possibilities, Agwene," he replies frankly.

Agwene inclines her head. "I...I will issue the appropriate orders. I'll keep a line clear for you. It is hard for me to think of these things right now."

"I am sorry, your Majesty. Perhaps it would be a good time for me to withdraw and for you to get some rest. Emperor Treznor is en route, and I can guarantee he will want to meet with you as well. He can be a very," he grimaces slightly. "A very determined gentleman. I will be in touch."

Calabrese gets to his feet, offering Agwene a short but polite bow. "My private line," he says, laying a card down on the table. "Should anything come to you in the meantime."

Agwene replies instinctively, without thinking. "I don't want rest! I want Nathicana back here and her abductor rotting in a prison cell!" She sits back down, putting a hand on her forehead. "I'm sorry. I should try to rest." She looks to the card, smiling weakly. "Thank you."

The chancellor is taken aback at her outburst to be sure, looking at the young woman with alarm, his hand going to his side then stopping as she sits back down. "I understand, your Majesty. It is a trying time for us all, believe me. We are doing all we can. Resting, desired or not, is probably the best thing you can do for her right now. A piu tardi, your Majesty. Until later."

Agwene just nods, sighing heavily. "Until later."

Treznor watches the arching, golden gates of the embassy grow in the distance until the four-vehicle convoy finally reach their destination. He drums his fingers on the armrest of his seat impatiently, trying not to think of how every delay is putting her deeper and deeper in danger.

The embassy is under heavy lockdown, two armed trolls guarding the gates and all secondary entrances closed to the general public and guarded by trolls, redcaps, satyrs, or humans. One smartly dressed, human staffer stands right behind the gate, assigned and trained to recognize the three or four people who would actually be allowed in. The man steps forward, seeing the cars.

A Captain in black and silver steps out of the lead and presents a folder to the individual nearest to him, a towering, blue troll. "The Emperor Devon Treznor, here to see Queen Agwene. We should be expected."

The troll takes it and hands it to the man through the gate. The man flips it open and nods, at which point, the gates are opened. The two guards back away, bowing to the Emperor's convoy, as does the functionary.

The Captain salutes briefly before re-entering his car. With little delay, they follow the gravel road in until they reach the large oaken double-doors where they were instructed to stop. Treznor gets out without waiting for security checks, earning himself a sharp glance from the guard commander. He ignores it. "Which way?"

One of the security personnel bows and begins leading Treznor inside. "This way, Your Imperial Majesty." The building seems bustling with functionaries engaged in a frenzied rush of activity. Security is tight, guards at almost every door, though they stand down for Treznor. There is one metal detector at the front door, though it's shut down for the time Treznor and his group start to enter until the last one passes and not a second longer. The security man leads him to a room where lots the High Queen speaks to a large group of diplomats, human and fairy. As soon as he enters, Agwene rises and looks to her people. "Leave us." They rush to obey with quick bows to the Emperor and the High Queen.

Treznor ignores the others, staring intently at Agwene. After a moment, he gestures to the two men still with him. "With your permission, I'd like to set up recording equipment to relay back to my people. You have information I need, and they can best help me sift through it."

She looks him square in the eye, nodding slightly. "Anything I can do to help, I will do. Just tell me what you need."

He nods to his people who hurry to fetch the cameras. Then he turns back to the Queen. "Have a seat, try to make yourself comfortable and clear your mind. I'm going to ask you some questions. You may know some of the answers, you may not know others. It doesn't matter. Just answer as best you can, and we'll take it from there." He proceeds to pace back and forth, forcing himself not to snap at every delay as his officers get ready.

Agwene sits in the high wooden chair, the Gwydion crest carved into its towering back, trying to relax and looking up at Treznor for a moment before she closes her eyes and tries to clear her mind.

Finally, Treznor takes a small object and adjusts it against his ear. "Ben? How are you receiving? Good. Start recording." He walks over and sits across from Agwene. "Now. My name is Devon. We haven't met before, but I'm engaged to marry Nathicana d'Aquisto. I have no interest in harming anyone who isn't responsible for what happened, so you have nothing to fear. Are you ready?"

"I know who you are, even though we haven't met. My only concern is the
lady's safety. I trust you. And yes, I'm ready."

"All right. From the top, tell me as much as you remember. Don't force it, just talk. When you're finished, I'll know what to ask."

"I was talking to Nathi by the wall. Someone grabbed her. It was silent so it took me a few seconds to notice. I used a cantrip to boost my own speed and tried to get him off. He was superstrong and fast for a human, though seemingly quite human. He subdued me and another man I didn't see shot me with tranquilizers. When I woke up, I found myself unharmed and being helped up by Dominion security."

Treznor ponders a moment. "When he hit you, did he use an open palm or a closed fist?"

"He hit me with an open palm once, but we mostly grappled. I was trying to pull his hands from Nathi and he was trying to pull me away."

"Did the bands on his arms catch your dress?"

"I wasn't wearing a dress. I was just wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I hadn't planned to be going anywhere where I'd be seen."

"Did the woman shoot you, or was she flanking you while you were shot?"


"I didn't see who shot me. But I didn't see any woman flanking me. I was going down the cliff face with the assailant and Nathi. I saw no one else on the cliff side."

*Treznor frowns slightly. "You were doing down the cliff side? Who was grappling with you while Nath was being smothered?"

"The same man who had Nathi. He was able to take one of us with each arm."

"Someone shot you while he was holding you both? What did he say to them?"

"It was in a language I don't understand."

"What did it sound like? Like hissing and spitting?" He tries a few words like a cat gargling a serenade.

"No, it sounded like..." Agwene breaths in, pressing her back against the hard back of her chair, and tries her best to imitate the man's words. It's not quite correct and few specific words can be made out, though the language might conceivably be inferred.

Treznor frowns. He's confident he's heard every language spoken throughout
the Triumvirate, and caught a few words of private battle codes, but this doesn't match any of them. "That's good. Anything else?"

"That's the only time he spoke while I was conscious."

"All right. How about his sword. Did he wear it on his right side or his left?"

"He fought unarmed. I didn't note any weapons beyond the tranq gun used to shoot me, which I didn't see."

"How about his helmet? Did it have a heavy noseguard, or was it sheer plastic?"

"He was unhelmeted, though the armor seemed to have been designed to accommodate one."

"Did the armour have latches or grooves for the helmet to connect to?"

"I didn't get a close look at the neck. The way it was cut suggested a connecting piece though."

"All right. How about his hair. Did it reach down to his collar?"

Agwene shakes her head. "No."

"Was it light-coloured or dark?"

"Dark."

"Did it obscure the patterns on his forehead?"

"It didn't block his forehead but I saw no patterns."

"And he was human? No fur, no scales, no points on his ears?"

"No fur. No scales. I didn't get a look at his ears but the whole build of his body was that of a human and not of an elf, a sidhe, or any other pointy-eared race known to me."

Treznor leans back and nods. "All right, thank you Agwene. Ben?" He speaks to the air. "How are you doing on that language?" There's a brief pause. "Me either. All right, we're done. Move fast, the clock is ticking." He turns back to his men. "Gentlemen, we're done. Pack it up." Then he rises and starts for the oaken door.

"Of course." Agwene stands as he prepared to leave. "Devon?"

Treznor stops and turns. "Yes, Highness?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop them."

Treznor considers this a moment. "I wouldn't have been able to, either. But then I'd be dead." He leaves quickly before his emotions get the better of him.

Treznor paces by the teleconference screen until he's given word that the link has been established. Then he faces the camera with hands behind his back. "Show her to me, you bastard. I want proof she's alive."

Alkanphel is still a bit bewildered, wondering just why in the hell this man has chosen to contact him. He furrows a brow and says simply: "The hell are you talking about?"

"Nathicana! I know you've got her. Your people didn't leave much behind, but they made a fatal mistake. They left Agwene alive, and she was able to describe them well enough that I know it was you. Now show her to me or I swear I'll unleash hell on you."

"'My people?'" Alkanphel asks incredulously. "My people are under seige right now, if you don't mind," he begins, caught up--for the moment--in proving him wrong "You think I'd--" he stops. "Wait, what? She's gone?"

"Taken by Five Kingdoms specialists. You're the only one who wants her that bad. There's no way you're as helpless as you claim. Every rat has more than one way out of their hole."

Alkanphel's blood runs cold, and he calmly rubs his temples. "You're going to have to repeat that."

"You took her! A squad of your people came up a sheer cliff, grabbed her and dragged her off. They also nabbed Queen Agwene, but they left her behind; obviously she wasn't the target. I've eliminated everyone who could possibly accomplish that except you."

Alkanphel reels a bit, taking this all in. "I did?" He scratches his head. "I'm sure the truth won't make much of a difference here, but I am not currently in control of a Specops group capable of doing something like that. Morgoth still has control of all the Sable Fist units so..." he trails off.

A moment later, he snaps out of his reverie by shaking his head quickly. "I must find her, I cannot afford to waste any more time here." He stands. "I'll give you your proof when I have it myself."

"Don't you hang up on me." Treznor nearly shakes with fury. "You tell me where she is, or I swear I'll have every army I can reach slamming down on you and your bloody Master."

Alkanphel's eyes flash with such intensity that the light fills the room Devon is standing in. "Devon Treznor!" his voice booms, carrying surprisingly well over the microphone. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you're the only one that cares for her! Do not be so stupid as to presume I would see her harmed any more easily than you!" He slams his fist on the desk, breaking it. "And he's not my 'Master,' hisses the Maia, his eyes flickering again. "I am."

Treznor frowns. "Then what the hell is going on? Who took her?"

Alkanphel throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Damn if I know," he insists. Behind him a stout Easterling strides into the room, vying for his attention with various gestures and vocal inflections. Alkanphel doesn't seem to be paying attention as he's quite visibly distressed. "For all I know Morgoth took her."

He finally takes a moment to converse with the Easterling who just walked in, pausing for a moment as he reads the clipboard the man had brought to him. Suddenly, the clipboard is snapped in half and flung against the far wall. Alkanphel releases a deafening howl and falls to his knees. "I was right," he announces quietly. "He has her."

"Fine. Then tell me how to get in there."

Alkanphel shakes his head slowly, forcing himself to his feet. "Get in where?"

"To Angband. To Nath."

"Oh for the love of--" he stops. "You have got to be--" he stops again. "No." He frowns. "This is my fault, dammit, and I'm going to be the one to fix it. She wouldn't be up there if it hadn't been for my lack of foresight. I should have known the bastard would do something like this." He shakes his head again. "I must go."

Treznor folds his arms and stands firm. "Not. Without. Me."

Alkanphel tightens his jaw. "How so?" he asks. "She's in my country, a country, I'll note, that--like me--very much wants you dead, loyalists and rebels alike. If you can find a way to get out here and survive, you're more than welcome to try. But until then, you're just going to have to let me handle it."

"Because I have a few things you don't. I can make him look in the wrong direction, just like last time. And because there's no way in hell I'm going to sit around and hope Nath is all right without doing everything in my power to make it happen."

"Well, contacting me was a good start," Alkanphel replies quickly. "Now, if you don't mind, she's currently chained to the side of a very large, unpleasant mountain. I, for one, would rather get her down than sit here talking about it, and I'm not sure I care which direction Morgoth is looking in. If it kills me to get her down from there, fine. I'll pay the price."

"And if you die in the process? Who makes sure she gets out alive? You won't win by pointless sacrifice."

Alkanphel laughs. "I've got an army, you know," he points out.

"So did I. A much bigger one, I might add. And all it accomplished was to serve as a distraction. If you throw yours at him now, he'll know he provoked you into moving too early and try something foolish. But if he sees me move against you, he'll think he's accomplished two goals with one stroke."

Alkanphel pauses. An irritated look passes over his face. "What is it you want to do?" he forces himself to ask.

"I have my forces on standby; I activated them the moment I got Cesare's call. They've had the better part of a day to get ready by now. With a little support I can pull from elsewhere, I can drop a company on your doorstep and assault you. We can meet up and head for Nath under the confusion. Then, with your access, I can implant a virus in the Five Kingdoms network that can confuse things further.

"Then, coordinating our people, we can make a feint on his doorstep with insurgent teams. All to hide the fact that you and I are slipping through to bring her home."

Alkanphel shakes his head. "Morgoth is a lot of things, but he's not stupid. He knows about you and Nathi, and I don't think he'd take the bait. About the only thing that I think is a viable possibility at this point is the virus you mentioned." He pauses. "But we'll talk about that when you get here. You have 12 hours."

"I'll be there."

Hefting his chainsword over his head, Ogan Sourn releases a mighty scream, cutting through the air like a thousand trumpets as he rallied his men over the ridge. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his marines hoisted themselves over the rocky outcropping and began making tracks towards the orcish encampment, as dozens of rockets soared over his head towards the enemy positions. Explosions rocked the air and the ground around him and his platoon, the almost blindingly white uniforms of the Fury's Call dotting the smoky, rocky countryside as the Orcs scrambled to prepare their defense. The base they had constructed topside was a makeshift establishment--a gathering place for their forces to marshal for the inevitable attack on the city itself. The crude structures had few guns mounted on them, indicating the Orcs did not expect an attack.

Indeed, Sourn's rash decision proved to be a fortunate one. An Orcish line rushed from the camp to meet the charging marines, but to little avail. The men charged trough the orcish lines at full speed, plowing many of the foul beasts to the ground, most of the soldiers using their swords or their fists to drive their opponents to their demise as they charged on. The air was filled with the sounds of shouting and gunfire as the Easterlings drove an enormous, white wedge through the orcish ranks, spreading fear and terror amongst their primitive foes. Before long, those at the rear of the Orcish lines began to lose their spirit and flee, only to be picked off by rampant pulse rifle fire as Fury's Call broke their ranks.

As they pushed onward, the second line of marines hurried to their new positions, running a few hundred yeards ahead behind the main assault to set up their weapons and fire on their new targets. A mighty barrage of rockets began to take down the few Orcish turrets and other crude structures that had been erected before them--the Orcs were certainly not known for the quality of their structural endeavors, and the marines quickly set themselves to exploiting the weaknesses in Orcish construction and general maintenance by perforating their encampment with mass amounts of rocket fire.

Before long, just about all of the topside infrastructure had been eradiacated, and the first wave of marines was chasing bands of Orcs out of their camp and into the entrances to the Five Kingdoms' tunnel system, where they would udoubtedly regroup. Sourn, casting an Orc to the ground with a well placed chainsword swipe, calls out to his Sergeant. "Regroup!" he commands, reaching for his microphone. A bullhorn is still strapped to his shoulder, and it amplifies his next words as he shouts into the device. "Regroup!" He shouts again, louder this time. "Watch the tunnels! Don't advance!" he cautions, as the last of the orcs are scattered or killed. The squads begin to re-form as reinforcements charge up the ridge behind him, dispersing into the appropriate platoons. Apothecaries rush to the injured. "We have won this day but the war is far from over!" He announces as marine helmets slowly start to turn to him. Before long, a sea of red eyes is fixed on the Overlord. "We must push these foul beasts back into their very nests! We march on Angband!"

A great cry rises up from the assembled marines, and rifle and chainsword alike are raised to the sky as a great war-chant erupts from the masses. Sourn lowers his microphone as his Sergeant finally approaches.

"Sir?" he asks shimply, standing at rigid attention, his helmet under his arm.

"Tell the Civil Guard to fight to the last. We are needed elsewhere."

Hours. It had to be only hours, didn't it? A day? Two? She had ceased her increasingly weak struggles for the twentieth or so time a good while ago. Had it been that many? More? Less? She had lost track of the time once daylight had more fully illuminated the cracked landscape before her. At least, what passed for daylight here among the slagheaps and tortured earth under skies filled with acrid smoke and endless haze.

I am dead, and this is hell, came the stray thought. Only she wasn't dead. Not yet. That would be a blissful release, after all. And that was no doubt exactly why she still drew breath. Death would be too easy.

She seemed to have run out of tears. Even when she tried to conserve her energy and what moisture she had left in her mouth, her tongue felt dry and swollen. Her head throbbed, aching. The sound of her rapid pulse sounded too loud in her ears, drowning out the other noises of this horrific place, even the occasional jeers and taunts of passing orcs. Those she felt more than heard anymore, as occasionally their foul laughter was accompanied by a thrown rock or bit of refuse. As hot as she felt, her skin was dry, chaffing against the rough cliff wall and her bonds, the burns she had recieved from the Balrog stinging just that much more on account. She was certain she had lost consciousness at least twice, or so it seemed, though the ramblings of her mind had begun to merge with the waking nightmare of what was before her til she wasn't sure even of that anymore.

There was a sluggishness in her limbs that went beyond what one might expect from the treatment she had recieved. Something at the back of her mind said her own ambitions were to blame there as well. Augmented limbs such as she possessed cost more than the simple trade-off in humanity, after all. Such things required more fuel in return for increased strength and the edge in reflexes she had desired. When exhausted and deprived of it, like any machine, they faltered and failed. Such was the case here.

Her earlier rantings and curses had been in vain - the monster they were targeted at had shown no further interest in her since their brief meeting. She was there as bait, and to serve as an object lesson. Her worth to him was no more than a worm on a hook.

How the mighty have fallen ...

She had used that phrase before, hadn't she? With others she had put in similar positions? Had she not also gloated and toyed with them? Fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony. There were those who might argue this to be a fitting punishment, all things considered. Even in her current state, this evoked the beginnings of dry humorless laughter.

God, she had all but abandoned long ago, refusing to bend knee to a being who would, in his 'wisdom and mercy', refuse to hear her prayers and so ruthlessly allow her parents to be taken from her, for her young life to have been shattered, for all those times she had turned to him in the dark of night in her shared room, listening to the quiet sobs of the other children, and hearing no answer from Him in return. He had not helped then, before she had embraced a life of self interest and sin. He would not do so now. She had lapsed now and then, a handful of times over the years, she admitted, but memories of those times only brought more thoughts she would rather keep burried.

There would be no Cavaliere Bianco this time. In part, that thought offered some comfort, as her burning eyes scanned the horizon. This place could offer him only death and despair. She almost thought she could see a glimmer of white there, moving among the quivering waves of heated air that further blurred her vision. No doubt, another hallucination, a trick of the mind, as other things had been.

The fear that continued to eat at her empty stomach was Morgoth's insistence that Alkanphel would come. After having seen the ancient Enemy of the elves in all his might, she couldn't believe that the Maia had taken it upon himself to rebel. Guilt at having pressed and lead him on beat against her brow along with the heat of the wasteland that made up the fallen Vala's domain. How could she have been so blindly arrogant? She had never believed the tales in full, never accepted that Morgoth could possibly be more than what she believed - a powerful lord in his own right who ruled more by fear and deciet than ungodly mystic might. Alkanphel had know this. He had known full well, and yet, he had done this. For her.

If he did manage to survive, would he keep his word? Damn you, you headstrong son of a bitch. Stay away. Keep hidden. I need you both to survive and go on. For once, think with your head and not your misguided heart.

And Devon. Her one hope lay in him never seeing her like this, never knowing what had happened. So long as he was safe, so long as fate granted her that much, she could die not wholely defeated. All they had been through together, all they had hoped for in spite of the paths they had found themselves on brought a sharp stab of regret more painful than any abuse she had endured thus far. She had lost him twice now, only to find him again. She didn't believe in the cliche of such things coming in threes. He had never trusted the Imperium. She trusted he would be on his guard against it, even without her to warn him.

One last time, mi amore. Just one last time. After all we've been through, I know you know. But it would have been good to tell, and to show you, one last time.

Surely her people would do what was necessary. Calabrese. He would make a sufficient ruler until Naiya was old enough ... if she could be taught. If she would be provided for. If she could be prepared and guided, and show herself competent for the throne. Without being there, without Alkanphel, should he fall here, what would become of the daughter she would never know? She had let the concerns of the present take up her time and thought, leaving her final will unfinished, undefined. Marcus would have everything his father could give him, and then some - she had no doubt - but he had made clear his feelings on the matter of the 'other' child. He had made no such provisions. There would be no support, no protection.

Shodey ... mia sorella ... if only you could hear me. Please, if ever you loved me, look after my daughter. Someone has to.

Struggling weakly against the iron manacles holding her fast to the cliff face, Nathicana made a choked sound of frustration, feet rubbed raw from trying to gain purchase sliding back down along the rock to dangle once more as she gave in. All the aches and pains coming over her in a rush as what little control she had been desperately exerting over her emotions broke and fled, again. This time, she didn't even have the strength to curse Morgoth's name aloud as she bowed her head, and tearlessly wept.

Space. So empty. So beautiful. So fucking boring. Nordanl Bey stared out at the stars from his port window, sitting quietly in his quarters as the small fleet of starships approached inexorably towards Earth. Very soon, they would be in orbit, right above Dor Daedoloth.

Nordanl couldn't see the planet from the angle of his window, but he smiled in grim anticipation. He never thought this day would come.

For all intrinsic purposes, Xaosis had been crushed, betrayed by Angelus and Nathicana, ignored by the Triumvirate of Yut and delivered into the hands of it's most hated enemy, the Five Kingdoms of Melkor Unchained. Of all the top Xaosis personnell, only Nordanl, by virtue of his unorthodox military training, had eluded capture. The only reason that Xaosis leadership survived at all wa thanks to the efforts of Menelmacari special forces.

Even so, the damage had been done. All the Branch Offices were gone, either broken into fragments or nationalized. A few had struck out on their own. Most just melted away, one way or the other. The Xaosis leaders, seeing the writing on the wall, made what they had thought would be the final decision.

Run.

Run and hide.

It was agreed that with no remaining legitimacy, depleted funds, and a mercenary force that was anxious to escape the hostile situation, the decision had been made to gather up all remaining assets and disappear into the deepest, darkest, most obscure and empty corner of space and never return, at least, not while Morgoth had an active interest in seeing Xaosis squashed like a bug. They all settled in Araman, the remote mining colony that Xaosis had intended to use as an ace in the hole. No one had realized how valuable it would turn out to be.

Araman had lived up to expectations. Though barren and far removed from the major shipping lanes, it had a treasure trove of raw materials, and a sizeable population of natives whose cultural pasttime consisted of finding innovative ways of killing one another in tin-pot wars. Xaosis carved a quiet niche for itself, keeping their finance strictly local in nature.

Oh, they kept their ramshackle fleet, of course, and maintained an impressive number of satellites in orbit to watch for any unwelcome visitors. They even sent out deep space probes every few months to gather news on the worlds they had left behind.

Recently, a probe had returned with the most startling of news.

**********************************************************

"I'll be damned."

Nordanl was sitting in the office of Mardai Sehndem, reading the datafile from the latest probe. It was not information that he had believed he'd see in his lifetime.

Mardai stood, facing the window to his office, staring out over the Acheron mountain range, a bleak wall of rock that failed to compare of the view he once had over Vinyatirion, capital of Menelmacar.

Mardai Sehndem shook his head. "I'm not passing this up. I want you to go out there."

Nordanl frowned. "But the Board--"

"The Board is content sitting on this rock and forgetting that Xaosis was involved in anything else. I'm not going to let that happen. I can't let that happen."

Nordanl nodded, inclined to agree. But still...."We'd be taking a huge risk, chief. We have no allies. Hell, Menelmacar, maybe, but I doubt they'd be able to help us like they used to. And if Alkanphel fails, we're sunk."

Sehndem turned to regard his chief troubleshooter. "Suppose we do nothing. Suppose we stay here. We'll be found, Nordanl. One way or another, we'll be found. The Triumvirate is always sleazing about the deepest regions of space, they're bound to run into us. What do we do then?"

"You've got a point there, chief."

Sehndem sat at his desk. "I'm sending you and five batallions of our mercenaries over there. I want you to raise hell. I want you to stick the knife into that bastard Morgoth as much as you can, as hard as you can." Sehndem almost spat out the name. A lot of people hated Morgoth with a bloody passion. Sehndem was without question one of them.

As for the mercenaries, well.....

Nearly all of them were Easterlings and Haradrim; Five Kingdoms nationals who had been hired by the Company before Xaosis decided to break from Arda and side with it's enemies. They stayed, of course, since guilt by association goes along way in Arda. After the unfortunate events on Angelus, nearly all of them fled with the Company, fearing reprisals from Morgoth. Nordanl was fully aware that they were anxious to come back home, and that they were just as anxious to avenge themselves on the regime that had exiled them.

"That's not all, though," continued the Easterling. "Make a deal with Alkanphel. I want an alliance with him. I imagine he'll be interested in one, given the instability of the situation. He's fighting a very determined opponent, after all. Do what it takes, kiss his ass if you have to. If he succeeds and Xaosis comes back home, we're going to need a powerful ally."

Nordanl grinned humorlessly. "If I fail, I'll make sure I go out with a helluva bang, chief."

**********************************************************

ATTENTION........ATTENTION........ALL UNITS PREPARE FOR DROP...........REPEAT, ALL UNITS PREPARE FOR IMMEDIATE SPACE TO SURFACE COMBAT LANDING

Nordanl Bey jolted out of his reverie. It was time.

As he prepared himself and joined his men in donning his powered battle armor, he reviewed his objectives inwardly. They were going to drop five klicks just east of Ali'Staan, not far from a major loyalist base. It would take all five battallions (roughtly 10'000) men, but the idea was to attain complete surprise. They couldn't possibly hope to occupy Ali'Staan, but they could fortify the position long enough to make contact with the Rebels and join up with their forces. Of course, if the Rebels refused, then Nordanl and his men were screwed, but they could probably hold for a few days, maybe even a week.

Nordanl knew that he was putting an unhealthy amount of hope into an alliance with Alkanphel, but he really had no choice. For one thing, death in battle beat the hell out of exile, in his book, and besides, he couldn't hope to reestablish Xaosis on Earth without help from Alkanphel. To try any other way would be just pissing in the wind, and Nordanl was no pisser.

Within twenty minutes, all the preperations would be made. Soon, hundreds of small combat dropships would plunge screaming toward Earth.

The army that called itself Blood and Iron would be jumping headfirst into the Five Kingdoms Civil War..............

"Craft, Identify yourself!" Barked Ezr Sergoyan. Behind him, marines hustled about as they prepared to make landfall themselves. Outside Angband. The Xaosis fleet may well have noticed the considerable Five Kingdoms fleet presence in the area--indeed every ship in Dor Daedoloth's armed forces was present. It was quite a sight to behold--all seven fleets.

Scouts had suggested, of course, that htey were the Xaosis craft that the rebel forces were only half expecting... but their presence could force Sergoyan's and Althalon's hand if deployed too soon. The more intelligent Commodores and various Fleet figureheads in their midst had wondered now for some time just which side Althalon would choose to join, but most of the rank and file was sufficiently convinced that the Warlord was still a loyalist. The Fleet, of course, had been ordered to open fire on Rebel camps on the ground, but the men in the Transports may well have had different orders.

"Shit," muttered Althalon behind them. "If we don't so something fast, our good Commodores will know what we're up to. If we suffer their presence while they attack a loyalist base..." he trails off, grunting as he tightened a strap on his armguard. His armor was... extensive, to say the least. The abscence of a helmet on his person made for an interesting conrast between his relatively tiny head and the huge, powered armor that he wore, painted predominantly blood red and black.

"I know, I know," said Ezr in a mildly annoyed tone as he waited for a response. "They seem not to have been briefed. I'll inform them to desist all operations until we issue the order."

"Right. In the meantime, we've got a battle to plan. And for once, we're badly outnumbered." He shudders. "Quite badly."

Caractor stood on the western castle wall, looking into the horizon and beyond in his dark and twisted mind. Something was going on in the "main land", something the undead did not like. Something that might prove fatal in the end. Something they could not even react to nor have any control of. Still, certain measures had to be taken, even if only in the area of the colony. Since no one had ever come to the colony, no one alive anyway, what they were going to would most likely not get noticed, nor should anyone really care about it.

He was deep in thought, but he still noticed the practically invisible Dusk Elder hover to his side.

"Is it done?"

"Yes. This place is truly ours now."

"Good. Leave."

And so it did, leaving Caractor alone once more.

Uncertainty was never a feeling he had liked. Not in his life, not in his death. Everything was ready if they would have to make a hasty exit... As they were for staying. And even for limited fighting.

Even the dead do not see into the future.

[OOC: he's welcome to post if he wants, as long as its something constructive. Like, maybe, something In Character.]

Treznor goes over his equipment checklist for the fifth time, having nothing better to do. Out of the corner of his eye he watches the forces around him, men he called "enemy" until he insisted on joining this operation.

A tall Easterling calmly strides into the room, speaking over his shoulder at the door guard. He comes to a stop a few steps into the room, clasping his hands behind his back. "Good day," he begins firmly, the irony of his words clearly not lost on him. "I am Ogan Sourn, Field Commander First Class for the Fury's Call Battallion. I and my men will be escorting Alkanphel, yourself, and the Marshals up Thangorodrim mid-assault. I trust you've been briefed?"

Treznor glances at his men and nods curtly. "Briefly, yes. This is your op, we're here by your grace. We stay down, follow orders and do nothing stupid."

Ogan nods a bit, unclasping his hands to beckon Devon towards the door. "Come, then. The fighting has already begun. We must move now if we are to succeed."

He starts for the door, but pauses and turns, giving Devon a flat look. "But first you must realize what you are getting yourself into. Being that you're not from around here, you are likely to see things today that you have never before seen, nor would you ever want to see. I cannot guarantee your survival, or mine. We will be outnumbered, rather badly at that."

The commander clears his throat. "We have a prroxomately two hundred and fifty thousand men assembled on the plains of Anfauglith, and we're anticipating ridiculously heavy losses. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Treznor looks up at the Easterling, not bothering to curse his short stature for once. In Southron he answers quietly, "I would have sacrificed every last man in my army to do this. Don't ask again." Two of the operatives behind him glance at each other, then stare at him.

Ogan snorts, not bothering to dignify his Devon's answer with a response of his own. "Come then, the main battlefront is not far from here. I will take you and your men by transport to the front via a small section of the local tunnel system we've managed to secure from the loyalists. Have your men check their weapons, as we could be ambushed at any one of the three connectors in our path."

Treznor gestures, and a woman in front snaps, "Check your gear. We're on." The two groups immediately comply. The woman then continues. "Alpha, we're on guard. Bravo, you're on point. That man," she points to Ogan. "is in charge. Do what he says, or we die." She turns and salutes Treznor. "Sir, we are go."

Outside, there's a platoon of Southron Guardsmen standing at rigid attention next to a large grav-transport. Ogan shouts to the driver in the Easterling tounge, and the man salutes and climbs into the front hatch. The turret on top of the craft swivels to life as the whir of the engine momentarily fills the air around them. The transport lifts slightly off the ground, and as the ramp extends, the Platoon Taskmaster shouts at his men through a bullhorn in Haradrim. Quickly, they file inside.

"We will travel with them, for efficiency's sake," Ogan explains as he draws his pistol. "There should be more than enough room." He hikes his head towards the hatch. "Come now, we must hurry."

The woman shouts, "Bravo, go!" Six men and women move forward, fanning out to cover the approach to the transport. Half a heart-beat later, "Alpha, go!" The remaining seven leap forward and bolt for the ramp. Once Treznor is aboard, Bravo Team brings up the rear. The woman grimaces at her Emperor. "Now for the hard part."

Treznor shakes his head. "No, the hard part is going to be getting back."

Outside, the gray ambiance of the stronghold sector eventually gives way to the pitch black of the tunnels, the only illumination coming from the transport's forward lights. Minutes pass.

Ogan turns to Treznor and his men. "Look sharp. We're coming up on the first connector." He jabs the turret gunner in the waist with the butt end of his chainsword, and the gunner jumps a bit.

"Don't do that!" Pleads the other Easterling, his voice muffled a bit by the turret assembly covering the top half of his body.

Ogan snickers. "See anything?"

The gunner snorts, and a cigarette butt falls to the ground, stamped out a moment later by the gunner's foot. "Believe me, Cheif. If I see anything you'll be the first to know," he answers dryly.

Treznor turns to the woman in command. "Colonel."

She turns to the others. "Eyes sharp, weapons ready."

"Eerily quiet," notes the gunner. The Haradrim tense up, some of them thrusting their weapons into their designated portholes for good measure. A wide chasm passes underneath them and off to the right: some fires and various lights can be seen in the distance as they shoot past, apparently without incident.

"Good," notes Ogan with a nod to Treznor. He grins a bit as his body rocks a bit with the movement of the craft. "One down two to--" he is cut off by the buzz of turret fire.

"Hostile movement! One o'clock!" shouts the turret gunner. "Shit, there's fucking hundreds of them!" The turret buzzes again. "They're opening fire! Look alive!"

The colonel barks, "Weapons free. Sir, get down!" Then she rams her gun into a port and pulls the trigger, eliciting a steady stream of puffs as air is displaced by solid projectiles.

A rocket slams into the wall of the transport, rocking the craft and sending several men sprawling. "Shit," grunts Ogan. He pounds on the cockpit door, and thrusts it open without waiting for a response. He and the driver exchange a few words, and Ogan turns back to the main cabin, steadying himself in the frame of the doorway, his figure eclipsing any meaningful view of the cockpit. He points to Alpha team. "You. Get your weapons to forward ports. Concentrate all fire on the troop mass, support our good gunner here."

Another rocket rocks the ship and one of the Haradrim is knocked unconscious by the force of impact. A medic races to him. "We're gonna shoot right through them, so make your shots count."

He points to the other team. Beta.. Betum.. whatever the fuck you're called, get your weapons to aft ports and lay down some cover fire once we get past. We will be delpoying a number of charges to disperse them as we progress, so be preapared for another impact."

"Distance to target, 400 meters!... 300!.. 200!.." shouts the driver, as the transport swerves to avoid another hit. The sound of gunfire riddling the hull fills the transport.

"Go! Go! GO!" shouts Ogan.

"Yes Sir!" She turns back. "Alpha Team forward, Beta Team rear! Single fire only!" The two groups split up to take their assigned positions and begin firing in a slower, methodical pattern. Treznor curses, checks his rifle and gets up to replace the fallen Haradrim.

A handful of bullets fly in through the portholes and another two men fall to the ground, their anguished shouts doing little to muffle the din from the chaos outside. The medic by now has his hands full, and Ogan kneels beside one of the men, raising his voice over the hail of gunfire to converse with his medic in Haradrim.

As the craft blows past the Orcs, it rocks violently as the charges are deployed and detonated, the flames reaching nearly to the craft's hull. A lone rocket sails from the former Orc mass, closing rapidly on the craft. Alerts sound from the cockpit. "Shit!" The driver turns his head back to the cabin and shouts. "We have a problem!" he announces. "One of them was smart enough to attain a lock!"

"Shoot it! Shoot the damn thing!" Treznor contorts himself in an effort to get a bead on the thing, but finds it impossible from his current position. "Dammit! Colonel!"

"No good, Sir! We can't see it!"

"450 meters and closing. Redlining engines now," confirms the captain. "Deploying countermeasures." Behind them, a cloud fills the tunnel as an elaborate chaff system is deployed.

A moment later, the rocket sails through it.

"Shit."

"I got a lock!" announces the turret gunner proudly. The turret buzzes again and a moment later the ordinance is destroyed, but it's close enough to rock the ship again, and the engine sputters. Quickly, the craft begins to decelerate.

Nontheless, the Easterling gunner crouches under his turret assembly and flashes Ogan a toothy grin. The men clap vigorously, save for Ogan and the medic, busy with the wounded Haradrim. "Thank you, thank you," announces the gunner, taking small bows. "Autogrpahs after the show, folks. Please, no pushing."

"Medic! Six is down! Beta Six is down!"

Treznor turns to see not only the Beta team commander, but two more of his people on the floor writhing. Beta Six, one Major Donnell his mind tells him, isn't moving. He drops his gun and runs to the back, hands fumbling for his medkit. "Ogan! I need help here!"

The man Ogan helped earlier struggles to his feet in just enough time to be pushed asde by the Field Commander. He asks the soldier a question in Southron, and the man nods simply. The medic gets up and follows Ogan, the other wounded soldier having been rather quickly attended to.

"Shit. It's never easy, is it?" Without waiting for the order, the medic kneels and begins to field dress any visible wounds, neatly cutting any clothing in the way.

"Did you bring any medics?" asks Ogan, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Treznor stares at the lifeless form of Major Donnell, then points at the woman lying on the floor with blood bubbling from her chest. "She's one." He turns and bellows. "Colonel! Get your medic over here!" He turns back to Beta Team. "Who is your backup?" They point to the other man on the floor. He growls and kneels to assist.

"Well, ain't that about a bitch," says the gunner dryly, stabilizing himself on the edge of his turret assembly, biting his lip as he looks on.

"Engine 2 back online!" announces the pilot over his shoulder as the craft begins to accellerate. The Haradrim medic frantically tends to the woman with the rather disturbing chest wound as Ogan kneels next to the other one. Ripping a medkit from the wall, he sets himself to field dressing the man's wounds.

The Haradrim apothecary shakes his head. "She's fucked unless we can get her to a field hospital within the next few minutes. The wound is just too damn deep."

Ogan purses his lips and raises his voice again, shouting at the pilot in Easterling. After a few moments, the craft takes a sharp turn upwards, towards the surface. "We're almost there," he announces. "Our pilot is putting out the call for Med Team One now. They'll be able to handle this, provided they can make it through the battle to our LZ. If not, he will medevac them to safety, along with the more seriously wonded of our crew."

"We don't stop for anything, not until we're done," Treznor says. He looks up at the Colonel's approach. "Get your medics to work. Beta Two and Six are down, One is being looked after. There are other men who need help."

The Colonel looks uncomfortable. "Sir, we lost Alpha Three in the fight."

"Understood. Get moving." He looks back at Ogan. "That's a third of my people. What do you make our chances of living through this ride?"

Suddenly, the air is filled with an awful din: shouts and gunfire and exploding artillery overwhelms the senses, and a peek through any one of the portholes gifts the viewer with the sight of an enormous battle. Orcs stretch nearly to the horizon, but the marines they're fighting seem to be doing fairly well for themselves. After a quick glance out the window to appraise the situation, Ogan turns back to Treznor. "We're not stopping," he announces, addressing Devon's first point.

"Med Team One will pick up our wounded and take them back to Camp. We will proceed to Thangorodrim on foot, and will scale it shortly after we meet up with Alkanphel and the Marshals.

He grins a bit. "Our chances never were good, Emperor Treznor. I do hope you are quite prepared to die." His grin grows wider as the craft settles and the hatch is flung open. The pilot shouts a single word at the top of his lungs in Haradrim and the Southron Guardsmen Fly out of the hatch and into the fray. "I am."

"Follow me!" he shouts. "To battle!" He raises his pistol and fires wildly into an approaching Orc-mass, artfully holstering it and carving through the first few of them with his chainsword as he rushes at them, skillfully whirling around to deliver a flurry of blows, his cape billowing dramatically behind him.

Treznor mutters quietly under his breath. "Let's go, Colonel. Grab the kits from the others and roll out."

The Colonel nods unwillingly, bending down to take key elements from her counterpart's harness. "Suits on!" Nine hands reach for their belt buckles and turn switches. Nine bodies become not exactly visible nor invisible, but slightly transparent. "Alpha on point, Bravo on guard. GO!"

Five blurry forms leap from the transport, firing steadily. Four more follow immediately after laying down cover fire.

Ogan cleaves himself a path through a horde of Orcs, a close combat unit rushing to his aid as the trasnport lifts off, the turret on top blazing-- a parting gift from the gunner as the craft rushes off. Apparently Medic Team One couldn't make it. They'd have to medevac.

The marines around them are white, with blood red on their shoulders and a black trim. All wear full body hardsuits, and all save the Taskmasters are helmeted. Clearly, they are Ogan's men, as they follow him into the orc mass. That, of course, and his colors match theirs. The men around them are Fury's Call, 2,000 of the finest Easterling champions in the Five Kingdoms.

"This way!" commands the Easterling as he wihirls around again, drawing his pistol quickly to dispatch an orc that gets a little too close. "The Marshals are not far!"

There had been movment, distant at first, then drawing closer. This much she had become certain of during one of the brief periods of relief when she had recieved water. It takes time for her to understand just what that movement is, and by that time, the clear sounds of battle leave no doubt. The uprising, it seemed, had begun in earnest.

She watches. There is little else to do. Her vision blurred from heat and exhaustion, she watches as the violence draws nearer, feeling a slight rush when it becomes more clear that the bodies that are falling in masses are more those of orcs, the telltale armor of men, looking hopelessly outnumbered in the dark swarm, shining through. This of course is noted with a silent plea, hoping whoever it was would be victorious. She coughs, dryly, her head pounding again as she tries to follow the ebb and flow of the battle, her vision slowly growing dark once again as the strain overtakes her.




***

Alkanphel appears somewhat displeased, possibly because he was hoping Devon and his retinue would have been cut down by the Orcs. "Glad you made it," he deadpans. Hoisting a massive greatsword over his shoulder, he hikes his head towards a nearby opening. "We're going up that way, it's not too far," he asserts, turning to Ogan. Around them, dozens of rifles fire nonstop to keep the tide of Orcs at bay.

Ogan salutes Alkanphel. "We will hold the entrance here, my Lord. There are simply too many Orcs for me to spare a squad for the ascent."

The Maia nods, bowing slightly in turn. "I understand," he says simply. "We should do fairly well for ourselves," he surmises, glancing over the assembled Marshals, their guards, and Devon and his team. Their optic effects have no effect on the Maia, which he demonstrates by seizing the nearest one on the shoulder and grinning broadly. "Hope you folks are ready!"

"Fury's Call will not fail, now or ever," asserts Ogan, raising a fist. He turns to his men. "Come men, there is much work to be done!" He shouts, rushing back into the fray. A massive pile of dead orcs is starting to loom large in front of the marines.

Treznor glances around at the five agents remaining to him, then back at the carnage on the field. "Love the red carpet treatment. Let's go."

The party travels with about 20 men, all of them clad in bigger and more impressive looking power armor than even the Close Combat units they saw earlier. Alkanphel himself has only a light set of armor, trusting more in his mobility, and his enormous sword.

The three Marshals fan out in front of the team, dispatching Orcs as they pop out of holes here and there, often killing them before anyone else has a chance to react. Their marksmanship is exemplary.

Alkanphel grins. "These men should make it fairly easy for us. This passage is more or less abandoned. Hopefully we will pass up to Nathi unnoticed."

Treznor nods silently and grunts, as he places a fresh cartridge into his rifle.

The team progresses with freakish speed through the dark tunnels, the only light coming from the occasional muzzle flash, invariably followed by an Orc making gurgling noises and a thud. They pass a good way up without incident. "Right then," says Alkanphel, peering around a corner; an opening granting them a spectacular view of the battle below. "We're nearly there."

Treznor looks down at the field, then back up to Alkanphel. "That's a bloody nightmare."

Alkanphel tightens his jaw as he steps out into the... 'light,' if you could call it that. Their shadows play against the mountainside as ordinance explodes all around them. "Yes, and do you have any idea why it's happenening, hm?" He turns to Devon, pointing up in the general vicinity of Nathi. "It's happening because of her."

He scowls. "Because I love her, damn it. I'm quite possibly sacrificing all of my men to get her down." He turns, and begins to climb the final leg, sligning his sword over his back.

"Do you have any idea what happens if I make that sacrifice?" He asks, not waiting for an answer. "I lose. That's it. Morgoth oppresses Humanity like he never has before. Should this gambit fail--" he grunts, pulling himself up a small ledge, "--which it likely will, I will quite possibly die myself. Not only that, but at the very least, my vision for a new Imperium dies as well. Do you not see the lengths I'm going to? Do you not see I'm willing to sacrifice everything? For her?"

"What do I have to do to prove myself?" He asks simply, finally.

Treznor pauses to consider this. "Look at what you've done to our lives, what you've done to my family. Ask yourself what it would take if you were in my shoes."

Alkanphel pauses. A look of incredulity passes over his face. "What the hell did I do to you?" He climbs up another ledge, struggling for a foothold for a moment. Noting Devon's rather short stature, he turns and offers a hand, albeit reluctantly. "I've done nothing to hurt any of you of my own accord."

"Mind you until very recently I was under the employ of Morgoth," he notes, hoisting the man up. One of the Marshals snickers as he climbs up after them. "Many of my actions were not my own."

Sudani, Hattori, Marius, and their men struggle up the mountain behind them, conversing quietly, noting the Orcish movements below. Occasionally one of them speaks into their radio unit to advise their counterparts on the ground.

Treznor glares at Alkanphel. "The excuse of 'only following orders' didn't cut it for the Nazis, and it doesn't work here either. I don't know how you managed to put a child into Nath while she was carrying mine, or how you did it without putting my boy at risk. Take responsibility for your own actions and stop sniveling about being under orders."

As the sounds of bloody conflict draw closer, Nathicana rouses herself again, looking around groggily as she tries to focus on the scenes below. As her vision begins to clear, her stomach clenches with panic and she shakes her head weakly in recognition of the figures approaching. You fools ... you damned fools, get out! You cannot be here!

What escapes her lips however is nothing so coherent, as all she manages is hoarse wail of despair and denial.

"I'm not sure how that worked either," Alkanphel admits, only half truthfully. "But damn it, you have no idea what--" he stops.

Now on the final ledge, Alkanphel rushes to where Nathi is chained. He shouts an explative in Valarin as he gets a clearer view of the woman. "Khaled! Marius! Dash! Get up here at once!" he commands. "Get those rations out! Don't spare the canteen either!"

Turning back to Nathi, he shakes his head a bit, levelling his gaze at her as he wraps his fingers around the Iron clamp on her left wrist. "Your men," he says flatly, with a slight tightening of his jaw and a wry sort of smile, "have arrived."

Treznor leaps to the wall where Nathicana hangs, gritting his teeth to avoid snapping at Alkanphel. "Hey, Red. I thought Christ figures were supposed to be masculine." He looks up and down the metal bar and tugs experimentally at the end connecting to the wall.

"You idiots," she rasps, breaking down into sobs. "Trap! He wanted this! Going to kill you!"

Alkanphel grunts as he pulls again. at the enormous clamp on her left wrist. Planting his feet on the mountainside, he plants himself parallell to the ground beneath them as he endeavors to wrench the cruel device off the rock. "I know," he answers simply. "It's obvious. I decided to come anyway." He grins. "Fight my way through it."

Treznor pauses to caress her face. "I guess I'm...we're kind of stupid that way. Now hush and let us work."

"Less talking more pulling!" commands the Maia, now quite obviously strained. His feet begin to slip, and he finds himself standing on the rock again. He curses once more in Valarin. "It's too strong. I can feel it starting to give, but I can't pull it out."

The Warlord purses his lips, and clearly his next words he doesn't particularly want to say. "You give it a try. You seemed stronger than I last we met. Perhaps you can do it."

Treznor shifts to the bar Alkanphel relinquished and grips the ends carefully, before setting his feet and beginning a slow, steady pull. He keeps it up for over a moment until his face turns red and the tendons stick out on his neck. Eventually he gives up, panting for breath. "No good...too much..."

Nathicana shakes her head, still sobbing, now lapsing into her native language as she begs and pleads with them to leave, struggling weakly against her bonds all the same.

"Nathicana D'Aquisto!" Alkanphel's voice booms, entering her mind for the first time since that first meeting in her office--but this time to grant her some clarity rather than to intrude or manipulate. "Neither of us will stand idly by while you're up here like this, trap or ambush be damned!" He throws up his hands. "You think I'd be able to live with myself?!"

Nathicana tilts her chin up and glares back at him with more spirit than she's shown since dealing with Malik, despite her continued trembling. "Better that you live than to die here in vain. Do not make my death worthless. Now get the fuck out of here."

"No." Alkanphel answers, clearly disagreeing. "Better that I die and you live. After all I've put you through, my life is all I have left to offer for your salvation."

Treznor sits on ground before reaching into a side pocket for a food packet. He breaks it in half and practically swallows one piece whole before putting the other to Nathicana's lips. "Hush dear, the men are talking. We can shoot the wall. Weaken the structure before we take it out."

Alkanphel turns to Devon. "First, let's both try pulling on it. No sense in wasting ammunition if we don't have to." He gestures to the Orc mass below, which has somehow yet failed to eclipse the marines in front of them. A wall of Orcish dead has mounted in front of the main lines, which the greenskins need to scale before reaching their adversaries. "My men need their ammo for that."

Treznor coughs and frowns, then nods. "Fine. I'll take the left, you take the right. On three."

Nathi still shakes with repressed sobs, even though her eyes flare with anger. The food is too much to pass up, and she wolfs it down hungrily. "Cut the bullshit, the both of you. Goddamn stubborn sons of bitches," she mutters around the mouthful, soon turning to a string of colorful curses.

Sudani rushes forward with an enormous canteen, administering its contents to the Dread Lady as the two men work. "Drink," he commands simply, unconsciously administering the edict in the Southron tounge. He's pretty sure she understands anyway.

Nathicana doesn't bother arguing, as thirsty as she is. She does try to take it in somewhat slowly, all the same.

"Right then," answers the Warlord, reapplying his grip on the iron. "On three." He plants his feet again on the mountainside. "One... Two... THREE!" he screams, wrenching at the device. Treznor pulls hard and fast, trying to match his erstwhile ally's effort. At first, nothing seems to be happening, until the rock begins to crumble around the clamp. Alkanphel almost flies off the rock as it is finally pulled free, bringing a respectable chunk of the mountain with it.

Treznor falls to the ground unceremoniously and looks up at the results. He whistles softly. "I don't want to know how you got up there, Red."

Nathicana reaches out weakly to loop her now freed arm around Sudani, knowing full well he'll be the only thing keeping her upright if they manage to take the other one out. "No, Dev ... you don't want to know," she says softly, shivering involuntarily despite the heat.

Alkanphel shudders, looking grim. "I have an idea. Now lets get ot this other one. Hurry."

"Same routine. Again on three. Your count." Treznor gets himself into position again.

Alkanphel nods simply, assuming the position. He counts off again, and with a mighty effort, the second clamp is undone. Alkanphel casts the cursed device to the ground and boots it off into the distance.

Treznor collapses to the ground again and reaches in a second pocket for another food bar. Again, he breaks it in half before wolfing down a portion and giving Nathicana the other.

He shrugs at Sudani. "Consequence of a high metabolism."

Nathicana collapses forward limply, grasping at Sudani for support. Her lips move quickly and quietly in a silent litany of thanks, then accepts the bar wordlessly, too exhausted to argue further.

Sudani laughs a bit as Nathi falls into him. "Oh, I know," he says with a wink. "I'm quite aware of the ... side effects of these augmentations."

Alkanphel rushes to Nathi and Sudani, beckoning Dash to them, who produces a blanket which is promptly wrapped around Nathi's shoulders. "You look terrible," he notes.

"I feel terrible," she replies, reaching out to grasp the Maia's hand and squeeze it weakly.

"Hah! Now I know you're not a romantic," interjects Devon. "A proper gentleman would say she looks ravishing." Treznor turns to survey what remains of his team. "Colonel? How are we doing for time?"

"Sweet Jesu, Dev. A proper gentleman wouldn't be bantering back and forth while on the enemy's doorstep. We have to leave, dammit," Nathi says nervously, trying to wrap the blanket around to cover herself better.

"Can you stand?" Alkanphel asks. Nathicana shakes her head, wincing as she makes the effort.

"It looks clear, Sir, but I don't like the looks of that." The Colonel points to an opening glowing red. "I don't think it was doing that when we first arrived."

Alkanphel helps Nathi up, pulling her arm around his shoulder. As the Colonel speaks, he follows his gaze, then grimaces. "Oh yeah. The ambush," he comments dryly. "Khaled!" he barks, his head snapping to fase the Southron as he hands Nathi off. "Attend to the woman. I have some... business to attend to," he says, drawing his jaw, his eyes burning with a rigid, unwavering determination.

Treznor frowns and gets back on his feet. "Give her here. I'll carry her. Where the hell are you going?"

"No," Nathi half whispers, looking pale even as she tries to grasp at Alkanphel. "No, you can't. You can't. We have to go, dammit. We have to go now."

Sudani, not wanting to be in the middle of this disagreement, promptly relenquishes Nathi to Devon, much to the Maia's annoyance. "I'm going to save your life," the Warlord answers, as the massive fire demon bursts out from the opening, filling the air with an angry roar.

Treznor falls to the ground in surprise, along with the rest of his people. Someone could be heard to say, "Oh shit..." but in the confusion it's hard to tell who.

The Balrog lifts its flaming sword and roars again, louder this time, as Alkanphel presents himself to the monster and unhinges his sword, swinging it around to face his enormous foe. The Maia seems to grow in stature as he speaks.

"Go now, run! This foe is beyond your power to defeat!" He shouts over his shoulder. Facing the Balrog fully, he plants the sword into the bare rock and glowers with rage. "Come, demon, and meet your reckoning!" He screams, casting off his armor. "I will yet see your end ere you harm my companions!"

Nathicana clings to Devon, wailing in recognition and terror as the monstrosity appears. She reaches out to Alkanphel with one hand, screaming for him to run.

Alkanphel stands fast, his eyes fixed on his foe, ignoring Nathi's pleas. 'Go now,' his voice echoes in their minds. 'Worry not for me.'

Treznor curses and climbs to his feet, buffeted by wind and heat. He gestures to the people remaining, including Sudani and the others. "He's right! Let's go!" Then, hoisting Nathicana in his arms like a doll he races for the exit.

Alkanphel and the massive Demon charge at each other, and soon the clash of their weapons releases a mighty torrent of sparks and flame. 'I love you,' comes his final comment to her. The Marshals and their retinue make tracks for the exits, half of them rushing ahead of Devon and Nathi, and the other half rushing behind.

Nathicana watches it all over Devon's shoulder, clinging to him desperately as they run, still shrieking for Alkanphel to flee. She hears his last message, cutting through the chaos and noise, hears the tone of finality there, and screams again in denial. Still, in the depths of her mind, she reaches out as they turn down the passage. You can't! Please! I need you!

'Goddammit ... I love you.'

Alkanphel smiles despite the glancing blow landed by a flaming axe to his shoulder, rolling aside a moment later to dodge to next set of attacks. She finally said it.

The city of Ali'Staan was burning.

Commander Tatha Gorkin grunted in disatisfaction. He didn't want it to come to this. It was his hometown, dammit. But the people had made their foolish choices. The vast majority of the Ali'Staani declared for the Rebels, more then enough of them to take control of the city and establish their own little city-state. Gorkin had been instructed, as the regional commander of those Southron Guardsmen still loyal to the True Emperor to bring the city into the Kingdom of Near Harad once again.

Unfortunatly, just as many Southron Guardsmen, men he had commanded and worked with for almost ten years, were following the traitor Alkanphel and defending the city from all incursions.

To that end, Gorkin was forced to rely on the local Orc population, an unfortunate development. The Orcs would slaughter every human in the city, and probably burn it to the foundations, since Gorkin's men just simply could not restrain him. But what choice did he have? He obeyed his Emperor.

He watched calmly through his binoculars as the Orcs swarmed into the heart of the city. One by one, the suburbs had been reclaimed for the Loyalists, and very soon the entire city would fly the flag of Melkor Unchained once again. That the city would be nothing but rubble by that point was, sadly, inconsequential.

"Sir?"

Gorkin lowered his binoculars and turned to his adjutant. "What is it, Colonel?"

The Haradrim colonel pointed to the sky, a puzzled expression on his dark features. "Sir....those are dropships, are they not?"

"Dropships?" Who the hell was dropping soldiers here? There were more then enough Orcs to handle the defense.

He turned his binoculars to the skies. Sure enough, there were dozens, no, hundreds of them, screaming almost straight down toward the heart of the city. He didn't recognize the colors or insignia. A chill went down the Commander's back. "Those aren't Imperial ships."

Ten feet away, the base camp comm officer yelped. "Sir, reports coming in.....dropships landing in the combat zones.......they're coming in hot! Platoon commanders are reporting an escalation in enemy fire!"

"Holy shit, that's got to be a fucking Division's worth of dropships up there!!!"

**********************************************************

The first dropships landed straight into the combat zones, amidst surprised Haradrim rebels and even more surprised Imperial Orcs.

The Blood and Iron mercenaries arrived on scene with guns blazing. Further back, Nordanl Bey barked instructions to set up a base camp while the front line troops checked the Orcish advance.

He barked instructions into his comlink, "Suppressing fire! I want the Whirlwinds dropped and in position in three minutes!"

Overhead, the dropships kept landing, some close to the camp, but most landed amidst the frontline soldiers. Orcs were bred for war, but they were poorly equipped for surprise. Though they probably outnumbered both Blood and Iron and the Ali'Staan militia, Nordanl hoped that the Orc chieftans wouldn't know how to handle the shock of a sudden enemy drop. Orcs were not renowned for adapting to new situations.

**********************************************************

Gorkin swore. The comm station was being flooded by the chatter of confused Orcs. "Dammit, push!" he growled. "I want all Southron and Orc forces to maintain the assault! The line must hold!"

In the streets, the Loyalist Southrons held their positions, redirecting fire to the new enemy. They were equipped with battle armor and pulse weaponry, but most interesting of all was their deployment tactics. As the seconds ticked past, Gorkin became sure that he was fighting Easterlings and Haradrim. "How in the blue hell did the Rebels manage to drop five battallions out here?"

"Because they aren't rebels," replied the adjutant. "I just got off the comm with B Company. The Captain recognizes the enemy colors as belonging to Xaosis Corporation."

Gorkin blinked. "Xaosis?? That's not poss---"

He was rudely interrupted by a burst of artillery, causing everyone in the camp to scatter.

Gorkin bellowed in indignant rage. "What the FUCK was that????"


**********************************************************

As the new Blood and Iron headquarters set up shop in the wrecked warehouse, Nordanl Bey listened to the coming reports with grim satisfaction. His adjutant, Hasmad Shakkan, saluted and smirked in grim pleasure. "Sir, all Whirlwind artillery tanks are in place and launching salvos as we speak."

"Excellent. What's the tactical situation?"

"All Regiments are reporting massive Orc withdrawals into the suburbs following the artillery strikes. However, we are still being engaged by Southron Guardsmen."

"How many?"

"Difficult to assess, sir, but there can't be nearly as many of them as there are of us."

"Good. In the meantime, I want you to send some people out and make contact with the city militia. Let them know they've just made some new friends."


**********************************************************

Gorkin fell to his knees in despair.

It was now almost sunset, and the city still burned as it did eight hours ago, but it was much further away now.

They could not get air support to suppress the artillery. It had been thought at the outset of the campaign that none would be needed, after all. The Ali'Staani rebels had no artillery, had only a scattering of tanks....nothing that couldn't be beaten off by a sea of Orcs.

The Orcs had lost thousands, not so much because of numbers, where they still had the advantage, but rather due to the Orcish tradition of doing the absolute stupidist manuevers in the event of an ambush. They had retreated within an hour of the Xaosis mercenaries arrival.

Now, was was watching the camp being dismantled for the second time in the space of one day. The combined Xaosis and militia forces were regaining obscene amounts of territory in the suburbs, and Gorkin was now forced to send word to Angband that the first assault on the city had failed. He had no choice left but to lay siege.

The Emperor would be most dissapointed.

Overlord Bradley Steelblood sat brooding atop his iron throne, deep within the heart of Blackstone Fortress. He rubbed his brow and ran over the events in his mind that troubled him so. The Five Kingdoms was at war with itself, this much was certain; he had received word from Rillstadt some time ago that this was brewing. Compounding this disturbing news was that it was none other than Alkanphel leading the rebellion.

Troubling indeed, the mighty Wretchan thought.

The Overlord liked Alkanphel; he had spoken with him personally on a number of occasions, and the maia had always given him the respect he was due. Bradley Steelblood had no great desire to see him destroyed, but he was honour-bound by alliance to see it done if Melkor called for his aid. The Lord of the Five Kingdoms had not yet done so, however. In fact, he had not received any word whatsoever concerning the civil war, which was quickly escalating and plain for any who kept an eye on the Five Kingdoms to see. This also troubled him, but was a relief in a way. If Morgoth did not ask for his assistance, perhaps he need not act against Alkanphel at all. Further gnawing at his thoughts were his doubts in Morgoth himself.

Afterall, the Overlord mused, if the Dark Lord is not strong enough to control the lands he claims, is he truly worthy of ruling them? Such thoughts went against the loyalty he owed his ally, but the ideal of the Rule of the Strong was held dear by every nation in Arda without exception. Weakness could not be tolerated. Perhaps Morgoth expected the rest of Arda to think this way, and was thus attempting to prove his mastery over his domains without aid.

All of these thoughts and more weighed heavily upon the Overlord of Wretchengard. The Dread Legions and Sky Command were in a heightened state of alert, ready to be deployed on short notice should the order be given. And so the Overlord would continue to watch as the bloody drama in the Five Kingdoms unfolded, waiting for the words from Angband that would turn his thoughts to action.

"Status." Althalon grunted, hefting himself out of his chair.

Ezr squinted at the document in front of him, lowering it after a moment. "Everything's a go, sir," he asserts. "All teams have successfully uploaded the program to their assigned ships as requested." He nods towards Althalon's PDA, which sits on a ledge to the Warlord's left. "Try it."

Konrad nods, picking up the device and keying in a few numbers. A wicked grin spreads across his face as the device brings up a small, 3-D projection of the Seven Fleets. Selecting a ship by highlighting it with his finger, he keys in a few more numbers and the words "Gravity Control" flash across his screen, followed by a few beeps and a confirmation notice.

"Excellent. As long as I can do it from here, everything should be OK. We'll be needed on the ground, you know," he adds with a wink.

Ezr nods. "Prepare for drop, then?"

"Indeed. The assault has already begun. We may decide this battle. Alkanphel has informed me that Sky Marshal Petrik is sympathetic, so we won't be walking into a burn."

"Still, Ezerhan concerns me," Ezr points out, his voice touched by doubt.

"Have faith," answers the Warlord with a grin. "Hopefully Petrik knows what he's doing. If things should get out of hand with the Gravfleets, we may be forced to deploy some marines against them."

Ezr nods, rattling the hilt of his powered sword absently, as if confirming its presence. "Fire up OMCL and Issue the order then. Lets get out of here and on the ground."

***
open Military Command Line
Point of origination: Command carrier Ali'Staan
Target: All Five Kingdoms military vessels in orbit above Arda
Re: Assault

All units are ordered to commence fire support on Angband's Orc army. Marines drop to groundide and assist marine positions there-- do not let the assault fail. Advance cautiously, as we discussed in breifing. Fleet Commodores are to aid this effort where possible, noting that if they should choose to contravene my orders, very bad things will happen. To Battle!

***

With the order, 45,000 more Easterling marine units and Southron Guardsmen made landfall on Anfauglith. The marines obey Althalon's order with frightening tenacity, springing out of their dropships with weapons free, blazing indiscriminantly at the rushing Orcish positions. Morgoth and Althalon had arranged for the drop zone to be some distance behind the Orcish lines, which were already taking much heavier losses than anticipated. With Althalon's maneuver, the first Orcish assault was rapidly failing.

Althalons dropship, the largest and most heavily armed craft of them all, was one of the first on the ground. "Out!" He commands once they touch down. "Weapons at the ready! It is time!" he shouts, springing from the open hatch into the ensuing melee. The Io marines cut a dark swath through the Orcs, scattering those it did not kill. Many retreated to the Gates of Angband as the Io marines united with their counterparts already engaged in the assault.

By now, there was a mountain of Orcish dead, and it was growing larger by the minute. By the time Alkanphel and his team had ascended Thangorodrim, 245,000 Marines had managed to inflict unheard-of casualties on the greenskins. Rear positions began to hunker down for the anticipated regroup, as the front lines reinforced and kept fighting.

"Sir!" Shouts a Taskmaster, running to Althalon amidst the din. "They're falling back across the board. Surely they're regrouping," he notes, rather alarmed. "A second assault will be far larger than the first, and might break our lines. He may dispatch the Balrogs."

The Warlord knots his brows, noting through his binoculars that the Maia was already fighting one of them a short distance up the mountain. Lowering the device, he turns to his Sergeant. "Order frontline artillery to turn its guns around and carve us out a line of craters behind our marine positions. Have them fire in a semicircle; the concave facing the Gates. Return to me once this is done, I have a handful of errant Commdores to deal with in the meantime," he notes, as a few isolated shots from orbit begin coming down on his men.

"Yes sir!" shouts the Taskmaster, houting at his squad as he scurries off a moment later. Four Heavy Machine guns are quickly dismantled around them as the men rush off after their Taskmaster.

Nordanl Bey regarded the band of ragged Southrons approaching him. It was a quiet morning, and the Whirlwind artillery could be heard softly thumping in the background. Other then that, things were peaceful, despite the wreckage and rubble.

The lead Southron stepped forward, dressed in renments of a Southron Guard uniform. He curtly saluted and spoke. "I am Izmir Turok, civil defense commander for the Free City of Ali'Staan."

Nordanl returned the salute and nodded. "Nordanl Bey, Force commander for Blood and Iron."

"Blood and Iron?" Turok cocked his head. "Are you a new faction?"

Nordanl smiled. "We're mercenaries, under pay of the Xaosis Corporation. As you may have guessed, Xaosis is sympathetic to the Rebels and to Alkanphel."

"If I may say so, Commander Bey--"

"Nordanl." A toothy smile. "Please."

The Haradrim nodded. "Nordanl. You're arrival here is....greatly appreciated by the Free City government, to say the least."

Nordanl shrugged. "I wouldn't get too enthusiastic. My scouts tell me that we're still outnumbered here. Are you in contact with Alkanphel or the other Rebel commanders?"

"90 percent of Near Harad remains in Loyalist hands. The countryside is swarming with Orcs. Most Southrons in the outlying towns and villages are in support of Morgoth." Shakkan looked grim. "This city is the only center of Rebel activity for miles."

"What about the other Kingdoms?"

"There's rumor of a major assault on Angband. Nova Rhun is completely in Rebel hands. Past that, I have no information."

"Then we're on our own. What sort of resources do you have?"

Turok spat in the rubble. "Shit. That's all we have. We managed to loot some old tanks when we ousted the old city government, and we got plenty of rifles and ammunition, but we have no artillery, no air defense whatsoever."

"Utilities?"

"All the phone and computer lines are wasted." Turok sighed and spat again. "We still have some power plants, and the main water facillity. I suspect Gorkin hoped to capture those places intact."

"Gorkin....Let me guess, the Loyalist commander."

"Technically, though I would bet the local Orc chieftans have more authority then he does."

"Well, we can bet on the Loyalists bringing bomber planes out here."

****************************************************************

Tatha Gorkin paced the inside of his tent, looking over every now and then at the map of the city of Ali'Staan and the surrounding terrain.

There was no doubt that he had enough Orcs to overwhelm the defense, but doing that would guarantee near total destruction of the city. Orcs had trouble listening to human superiors, and when they made up nearly three quartes of the attacking army, well.......You had better luck getting a Dwarf to renounce material wealth. At the moment he had just barely convinced the Orc chieftens to sit tight and lay siege, but they were restless. They were furious at having been taken by surprise, and wanted to charge headfirst into battle.

Unacceptable. At least Angband was now sending aerial support. With a little luck, they could simply pulvarize the defenders into submission, and there would be no need to condemn the citizens of Ali'Staan to genocide. Tatha tried not to think of his brother and nephews, who to his knowledge had declared for the Rebels and were still in the city.

He cocked his head as he heard the sonic boom of a bomber squadron, and nodded in satisfaction. It would take weeks, but Tatha was determined to take the City without having to use the Orcs.

Khaled Sudani stops at the mouth of the cave and beckons Treznor and his entourage to him while drawing his sword. "We haven't got much time! Orcs are closing in on our marines down there! We've got to get back to the fight and get her out of here!" An artillery round plows into the mountain not far from them, sending rock and dirt raining onto the party as they race for the exit. "Go! now! We've got no idea what else is waiting for us up here!"

Hattori, the other Marshal, peeks his head out from the cave as a few more marines are escorted through. "Recon says we're clear. Lets get this show on the road. Hurry." He vanishes.

Treznor finishes attaching the harness to Nathicana and nods. "All right! Go!" The Colonel gestures and the suits go back into play, reducing available targets before the group moves at a steady pace behind the Marshal.

<LOS Communications - Nathicana.
{
>> Hey, Red. I know this is a crazy time to ask, but will you marry me?


The stout Haradrim pauses to take one last look at the battle unfolding before them. With a sigh, he turns and disappears into the cave as Alkanphel lands a devastating blow on the Balrog's upper leg, sending the beast reeling. "Good luck," he mutters, though its clear by his expression he's not holding out much hope for the Maia.

At the front of the group, Marius Hasek lights a torch, thrusting it into the darkness. He wrinkles his nose. "I'm pretty sure it didn't smell like this on the way up." He turns his head halfway to Hattori. "Recon said what now?" he asks, clearly dubious.

Nathicana curses vehemently under her breath, angrily brushing away tears as she tries to focus on the task at hand. "At least give me a goddamn gun, will y--" she mutters at Treznor, then pauses, giving him an odd look. "Wha?"

Treznor carefully balances Nathicana in one arm before awkwardly sliding his rifle strap down his arm from the shoulder. "Are you steady enough to fire this thing? If not, then there's no reason to draw attention to ourselves."

>> I'm serious. This didn't look good going in. It looks worse going out. If we're going to die, I'd be happier...well...you know.

Sudani arches a brow. "I'd reckon she's not," he advises, adjusting his grip on his own weapon. "That rifle is better off in the hands of someone with a..." he pauses. "A clearer mind. Besides, with the metabolism demands on the augs, it's unliekly she's physically capable of being much use in a fight." He chuckles. "Trust me my good Imperatrice, you're in good hands here. These Marines are Lord Alkanphel's finest."

She blinks, starts to speak, then glares at Sudani. "Look you son of a bitch, I don't care who's hands I'm in, I do not want to be the only one here without a weapon. I don't bloody care if it's a rifle or handgun or what, I want something. Now."

<< I already said I would, mi amore. I'm only sorry I've lost that beautiful ring you gave me. I tried, god help me I tried ... [pause] You mean, here, now? In the middle of all this?

Treznor shakes his head, the visual distortion creating curious effects. "If she says she can, I'll trust her. If not, then I trust she'll tell us. We're in your hands, but I'll take all the qualified help I can get."

Sudani blinks. "She can't even stand and you want to give her a rifle?"

"Are we going to argue or are we going to move?"

>> Yeah. Now. Right here. Who cares if we're the only ones who know?

Sudani gestures to the point, which is now a good fifteen yards down the cave. "Waitin' on you guys. This retiune here is acting as bodyguards for you and your team. Point team will forge ahead, but we ain't movin' until you do."

"Move. Just move, dammit. We can talk as we go. But if you would please," she says between clenched teeth, "Find me something smaller I can handle while we're going?"

<< I never did hold that much stock in a bunch of papers anyway. [wry smile analog]

Sudani shrugs, and shouts a single word to another marine in the Southron tounge. The marine produces his sidearm and hands it to Nathi. "Fine by me," answers Sudani," but about the only thing you'll be able to hit from that angle is me and that wouldn't be very nice."

Treznor gives a mighty shrug and shoulders the weapon once again. "Right side; if you can pull it from my holster, you can have it. Colonel, I think the vanguard could use some backup, don't you?" The woman nods and gestures for one of her people to move forward.

The marine mutters something to Sudani, and the Marshal throws his head back and laughs. "Yes. Get going. Please, lets. I don't want to die in this god forsaken cave, if I can help it."

"Okay. We're ready." He begins to move forward at a reasonable pace.

>> Okay. Damn this implant sometimes, I can remember thirty different ceremonial vows including the ones from that Flash Gordon movie. Any preferences?

"Grazie," Nathicana says curtly taking the first weapon offered and looking it over quickly. "Don't worry, Sudani. I kind of like the way you look - wouldn't want to muss it."

<< Oh gods ... Do you, Emperor Devon Treznor, ruler of your corner of the universe, take this woman, Nathicana D'Aquisto, to be your Empress of the hour? [giggle analog] Lord knows, it may well be all we have left at this point.

Treznor snorts. "She must be feeling better."

>> Of the hour? Yes. And do you, Imperatrice Nathicana D'Aquisto, to be your consort of the hour? [chuckle analog] I'll take whatever I can get.

Ahead of them, Point team halts and the glow of their optics can be seen as they turn their faces towards Treznor, Sudani and their retiune. Two men crouch low to the ground and scurry off down deeper into the cave, returning a few seconds later. Nodding absently to Nathi, he squints at the movement up ahead. "Shit. Pick it up. I think we're in trouble."

The Colonel snaps, "Double time!" The Treznor group move forward with cautious haste, Treznor himself keeping up in spite of his burden.

"Think nothing, what is it?" Nathi says with alarm.

Hasek signals to Sudani, and the Haradrim puts his finger to his lips and gestures for everyone to get down. "Quiet!" he commands in a strained whisper. Four men quickly filter through the ranks, puhing their way to the front with inordinately large machinegunes. Sudani pushes his way through the bodyguards up to Hasek and the Point team, where they converse in hushed tones. A moment later, he returns to Treznor and Nathi. "Bad news: there's an ambush up ahead, or so our scouts tell us. We're pretty badly outnumbered, but we've got no choice but to go thro--" He's interrupted by the buzz of machine gun fire, and one of the four men falls. "Shit!"

<< You know I do, Dev. No matter what happens, I do. Dammit, watch your head there!

Suddenly the blackness of the cave gives way, and it is illuminated by the muzzle flash of 28 pulse rifles. Ahead of them, it's a grim sight: four mountain trolls are running at them with large, unpleasant looking clubs.

>> Marvelous. They have a cave troll. 'Scuse me a sec, love.

"Aw, hell." Treznor swiftly puts Nathicana down behind a rock before reaching for his rifle. "Do those things even have weak spots?"

"Bring them DOWN!" Shouts Hattori as he lifts his war-hammer and drives a blow into the foremost Troll's knee. Around him, the larger more heavily armored marines formatted for close quarters fighting engage the massive Olog Hai with their axes. Covering fire whizzes past them, expertly aimed over their shoulders and between their ranks at the incoming ambush.

Suadni knots his brows as he flings himself at a troll, interposing himself between the beast and his men. "No!" he shouts simply, too caught up in the melee for the time being to offer a more detailed answer.

"Just--" He dodges a blow, bringing his sword down on the Troll's wrist, nearly severing its hand as he does. "Just shoot the son of a bitch!"

"Porca miseria ..." Nathicana curses again, working her way up to where she can get a bead on the beasts, using the rock to steady her hand as she fires off several shots, then pauses, looking for more openings.

The Colonel pulls an electric grenade from her belt. "Vinnie, Marko, flank. Rog, up the middle with me." Then the Southrons make their charge, and she curses before putting the grenade away. "Dammit. Okay, the hard way. Bayonets, single fire. Go!" She charges into the fray, ducking for cover and firing. Treznor stands over Nathicana and fires with his slugthrower, aiming for joints and kneecaps.

The trolls do not go down easily. One of them realizes, after a time, that he has an assault cannon strapped to his forearm, and he pushes two of his club-wielding counterparts out of his way to use the new toy. "Humans go die!" He announces proudly as he rains a hail of ballistics onto the assembled marines. Hattori and his unit, having dispatched the first troll, now turn their attention to the raging beast with the assault cannon. "Shit!" Sudani offers again, doubling over as a shot grazes his neck. He promptly staggers to his feet and dives behind Nathi's rock as a crude explosive detonates where he was just standing. He sheathes his sword and draws a second pistol. "That son of a bitch shot me!"

Nathi glances over quickly, looking shaken, but making a firm effort at maintaining composure. She shifts her attention back to the hulking creatures coming at them. She still uses the rock to steady her aim, eventually emptying the clip into the trolls and sliding back down behind the cold stone to huddle quietly, trying to stay out of the way of those who are still able to fire.

The Colonel erupts in a fountain of gore as she takes a direct hit to the chest. The man beside her leaps to one side in reaction, rolls and comes up firing. Then he pulls a grenade. "Fire in the hole!" He pulls the pin and rushes the Troll, barely dodging the next shot. He gets close enough to shove the explosive up against the monster's side. "See you in hell." Then it detonates.

If the Colonel's demise was a fountain of gore, then the troll's is a waterfall. The explosion sends Hattori and his unit of melee marines reeling, and the remaining trolls attempt to flee. One, badly injured, does not make it very far before he's dispatched by heavy machine gun fire. The other disappears into the darkness.

"Son of a bitch!" Shouts Sudani agrily as he examines his hand, now covered in blood. The right side of his neck is bathed in crimson as he stands, holstering his second sidearm. "Casualty report!" he demands.

"Two from our squad, one from the other unit and two more assault marines," announces a Sergeant after a quick count. "All medics accounted for."

Sudani turns to Treznor. "What about you?"

"I have two men left. Neither of them are medics." He slings the rifle back over his shoulder and kneels to pick up Nathicana. "Let's go."

The woman nods, wrapping her arms around Treznor in as firm a grip as she can manage, peering into the tunnel ahead fearfully.

A few marines can't help but snicker at the Treznorian misfortune, though the sounds barely escape their helmets. Point team forges ahead as Sudani gestures for the rearguard to do the same. "Alright lets get going. Hopefully that was it..." he trails off, half expecting a horde of Orcs to prove him wrong.

Treznor settles himself and moves forward without another word, shortly flanked by the last of his people.

The mountain rumbles mightliy, a grim reminder of the fight unfolding above. As they proceed quickly down the tunnel, the din outside grows steadily louder, a grim reminder of the fight unfolding below. The pace of the marines is quick and determined, undeterred by the sounds that remind them of their impending doom.

A freakish sort of rumble wells up from above, like an avalanche, and it grows louder and louder. The men stop to steady themselves on the walls of the cave, as the reverberations are strong enough to send them reeling. As they halt, almost on cue, a horde of Uruk Hai charge at them from the not-too-distant cave opening, roaring at the marines and their entourage as they brandish their crude weapons.

"We're almost there," announces Sudani breathlessly, tenderly fingering the wound on his neck. "We've just got to push through this platoon of Uruks..."

Treznor steps back and unslings the rifle one-handed, still maintaining his grip on Nathicana. "Any strategy, Sudani?"

Nathi tries to keep herself as steady in Treznor's arms as possible, silently cursing being such a burden, especially in the midst of all the fighting. She presses her head in close against his shoulder, unable to keep her eyes off the surging mass of orcs ahead, and the carnage her remaining party makes while attempting to cut a swath through them.

"Advance!" commands Marius, pulling back the bolt on his pulse rifle, firing wildly as he and his tactical squad plows into their foes, engaging them in a vicious melee.
Sudani grimaces, dispatching a pair of Orcs with two well placed shots to the face. "Just push foward. Kill whatever's in your way."

"Pick your targets carefully," Treznor reminds the two still with him, and raises the rifle one-handed to fire single rounds into the battle.

Hattori's unit falls back, doubling up with Treznor's remaining men, assisting the Imperatrice and the two marine squads through the Uruks. They fall quickly under the axes of his men, and Hattori drives a blazing white wedge through his foes. Each blow of his hammer sends an Uruk or two flying out of his way, most meeting their demise when they strike the walls of the cave.

His luck, however, does not hold. A well placed shot from a distant Orc with some manner of single shot rifle drops the Marshal instantly. Trained to pay the loss no mind, his assault marines continue cutting their swath through the Uruks, as two medics run to the fallen Marshal.

"DASH!" shouts Sudani, drawing his sword and cutting his way through whatever foolish Orcs stood between him and his now fallen comrade. "Dash!" he shouts again. No answer.

Treznor continues to advance, firing steadily. He treats the rifle like a pistol, aiming briefly before squeezing the trigger, then re-adjusting his aim again. The soldiers beside him maintain a steady rate of fire, still single shots as ordered. Marko switches briefly to full automatic fire as a squad of Orcs break free to rush at them, and doesn't let up until the clip is empty.

<< I can't see it all well enough. How bad is it?

"Son of a bitch that's a lot of orcs," notes a nearby Easterling, kneeling as he reloads. The marine behind him stands and fires, taking down another group of orcs.

Sudani rushes to Hattori and the medics, who have already taken the liberty of turning the fallen marshal over onto his back. Sudani's jaw drops and he falls to his knees. Hattori had caught a slug right to the forehead.

>> If they had real more real weapons, we'd never get out of here alive. Sudani's people aren't so smug now, I think.

By now, Hasek had reached the opening of the cave, and a horde of white hardsuits could be seen a moment later as Fury's Call marines ran up after the Uruks, sending most of the remainig orcs in a wild retreat.

<< You say that like it's a good thing. Don't be so hard on the boys, Dev. They're here, aren't they?

Treznor shoves his rifle to the side. "Reload me." He takes the opportunity to stroke Nathicana's hair before he takes the weapon back. "Keep moving."

>> If Alkanphel hadn't been so goddamned pig-headed, I would have landed a division or two to help. I chose twelve to help me get in and out, and these bastards are sneering at me because most of them fell defending their asses.

As the various Easterling marines set themselves about securing the area, Field Commander Sourn presents himself to Treznor and Sudani. "Well done, if not for the loss of our good Marshal here," he laments, with a glance to the now dead Hattori, and Sudani who remains kneeled over his fallen best friend, speechless. Sourn shakes his head. "Still, much must be risked in war. I'm very sorry I was not able to accompany you as planned but we caught a rather nasty ambush ourselves shortly after dropping you off."

<< And if you both hadn't been so goddamned pig-headed none of you would be here in this mess right now, and your people would still be alive. [pause] And if I hadn't been so arrogant as to think I could keep it all together and play games with a God ... I was wrong, Dev. None of us should be here like this.

He sighs. "Suffice to say it's not something we were able to ignore. Apparently Petrik's control over the Battlefleets isn't quite what we thought, and we've been dealing with the threat of possibly having a Sky Furnace purge over our main lines at Anfauglith.

Treznor frowns and stares at Sudani. "Where to now?"

Sudani remains speechless. It's evident that he has no intention of speaking to anyone right now.

Nathicana looks over Hattori and the mourning Sudani, clenching her jaw tight, for now just not having the words.

Treznor mutters something under his breath and addresses Sourn. "Where to now?"

"Just about half of my batallion is being loaded up on dropships to engage the ships' crews as we speak, as a stopgap measure to prevent us all from being killed. Control of orbit is tenuous at best, though Althalon has been dealing with loyalists very efficiently up there." Sourn hikes his head towards the opening of the cave. "But come outside, I'm sure you'll find this latest development most interesting."

"I think I've had all the 'interesting' I can take for a lifetime," Nathi murmurs quietly.

Treznor holds Nathicana a little tighter, not yet relinguishing his grip on his rifle as he follows Sourn to the opening of the cave.

>> We all dance with the devil, Red, and we all get burned. But if we go, I want to thank you. It's been a hell of a ride.

The dark-haired woman just presses closer, closing her eyes for a moment as she squeezes back in return.

Sourn leads them outside, and he gestures up to where Alkanphel and the Balrog are fighting. "Did you know about that?"

Treznor peers. "Know about what?"

Sourn squints and hikes his chin towards the massive demon. "The Balrog. Was he there when you started down? I only noticed it short while ago, but I've been busy fighting until very recently."

"We met him, briefly."

"He's still up there?" Nathi asks sharply, opening her eyes and looking up in surprise.

Behind him, marines run back and forth as they set up patrols and tend to the wounded. "We've secured the area, but we're not currently in contact with any grav crews that can do anything about this..."

Nathicana looks over at Sourn with as much of her imperious look as she can muster while being carried like a child. "Then get in contact with them, dammit. You can't leave him alone like that."

"So what do we do if you fail to make contact with your crews?"

"Believe me, my lady, we're trying. The nearest rebel crew is still 50 clicks away, and they're being harried constantly by loyalist elements of the air force. We have our doubts as to their chances for success." He points to a section of the mountain where a horde of cleverly camoflauged men in powered armor are forcing their way up. "We, however, are doing what we can from the ground."

Treznor shakes his head again and mutters under his breath. "So we sit and wait?"

"Now," he continues, turning to face Nathi and Treznor. "We've got to get her to a medical outpost and call in an eva--"

"Look out!" shouts a nearby marine, pointing up to the fighting Maiar. Alkanphel had sent the Balrog off a precipice, and was being dragged down the mountain by the Demon's whip. The two of them plow down the mounatin like an avalanche, impacting the ground not far from where Sourn and the rest are standing. Around them, marines rush towards the duo.

Treznor steps back toward the cave entrance, leveling his rifle without firing. "What the hell?"

The fight, however, is much too fast and vigorous for most of the men to do anything about it. The first squad of marines on hand to help Alkanphel are dispatched by the demon's flaming sword, sending them flying. Alkanphel rushes the Balrog, burying his sword into the massive beast's leg.

Nathicana lets out a terrified scream at the sight of the monstrous creature so close again, clinging to Treznor, unable to see much of anything else from her vantage point.

The marines disperse back into cover, seeking refuge from the rampaging combatants. Meanwhile, Alkanphel had managed to relenquish his sword form the Balrog's leg, frantically parrying blow after blow. Finally, the Warlord manages to get his leverage and he pushes the demon off, whirling around to deliver a punishing blow to the his adversary's mid-section. Cocking back its arm, the demon roars again and backhands Alkanphel, sending the Maia sprawling against a rock. Slowly, Alkanphel begins to dwindle back to human size, and blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. The balrog snorts and turns towards Treznor and Sourn, who anxiously draws his sword as the demon closes. "Oh, shit."

>> Nath. I love you. I always did.

Treznor instantly lifts the rifle and fires round after round at the beast's head. A miss. A miss. A hit. There. Windage set, he locks his wrist and fires repeatedly.

<< I love you too, Dev. Always will.

Alkanphel falls to his knees first, then he collapses entirely, laying motionless behind the Balrog.

"Somebody get in there and help him, dammit!" Nathi says, pushing herself away from Treznor and stumbling off to the side, her eyes wide with terror.

If that thing charges, you run. Promise me.

>> If that thing charges, it won't much matter what I do. Noble, Red, but we're past that now.

Roaring again, Kanoruin cocks back his arm, sending his throng of flame shooting behind him as he prepares to lash at his assailant. Suddenly Alkanphel raises his head, and his fingers curl around his sword--and his other hand grips Kanoruin's whip. As the demon flings the cruel device at Treznor, he reels a bit with the added weight--and realizes a moment too late that his whip has got an angry Maia on the other end. He turns around just quickly enough to shriek in horror as ALkanphel buries his greatsword into the Balrog's face. Falling to the ground with a gurgling roar, the Balrog's flame is suddenly extinguished and the fire in his eyes begins to die. Alkanphel lands a short distance off, struggling to stand.

"Help him," Nathi says, looking first to Alkanphel, then to the fallen Balrog, then back again to the Maia. She struggles to her feet and takes a couple of staggering steps forward before falling to her knees. "Goddammit, Sourn, help him!"


Treznor drops the clip in his rifle and reloads before dashing over to Nathicana. "Dammit, Red. Back inside!"

A team of medics rushes to the fallen diety, and Sourn promptly follows suit, hacking through a few Orcish stragglers en route. Behind them, a company of marines advances to secure the area, and soon Nathi, Treznor and their escorts are surrounded by men in white, black and gold power armor. Sourn's voice lifts above the din. "He's dying!"

Nathicana starts to weakly throw a blow at Treznor, then lets her hand fall, just leaning back into him with a quiet, tired sob. "At least take me over to him, Dev. Please. Goddamn idiot men and your damn brainless plans ... "

Treznor steels his face into immobility at the news. "And you're a damned fool for forcing us into this. You're going to get shot, exposed over there." However, he picks her up and cradles her as before, carefully leaping over rubble to reach the site of the battle. He's careful to keep his gloating internal. Serves the sonofabitch right. I don't mind honouring him as a hero, so long as it's posthumous.

Nathicana just tightens her jaw at that, though she holds him close all the same, as protectively as she can while in his arms.

<< Thank you, mi amore. Just ... thank you.

>> I'm a damned fool as well, for letting you do this. You're welcome.

As they near the scene, the marines step aside, revealing a battered Alkanphel, Sourn, and a few medics. Alkanphel utters a final command to the medics and they nod simply, leaving to attend to the other wounded.

Sourn looks dejectedly at Nathi, and shakes his head as he squeezes by.

Treznor hesitates briefly, then sets Nathicana down next to Alkanphel. "We're awfully exposed here," he reminds Sourn quietly.

Frowning deeply, Nathi looks over the Maia, her expression growing more dark as she sees the damage done, and notes Sourn's expression and quiet message. She reaches out to carefully stroke her fingertips along Alkanphel's cheek as Treznor sets her down. "They'll be here soon to get us out of here," she says softly. "Just hold on, alright?"

Sourn draws his jaw, fixing Treznor with a scowl that could sour milk. "Listen here you son of a bitch," he hisses. "That man is our whole fucking movement. He's the reason you are alive right now. I don't care if we're exposed, by damn, If he's going to die here you bet your sweet ass we'll be on hand to pay our respects. If you don't like it, get your ass the hell out of here. We have a fallen savior to mourn."

Treznor meets Sourn's scowl with his own. "And if we all fucking die out here, then it's for nothing. The man finally got it in his head to do something bigger than himself, and you're going to piss it all away? He can die just as well inside as out, is my point."

One by one, marine heads turn towards Treznor and his two remaining men, and you can almost feel the tension in the air. The sound of bolts being pulled back fills the air. Several men level their weapons at Treznor. Sourn, who had begun to turn away, halts, and turns back to Treznor.

Treznor puts his hands on his hips. "I am here for her. He came here for her. He's dying for her. Tell me I'm being unreasonable."

Alkanphel tries his best to ignore all of this and looks up to Nathi, his hand reaching up to her face. "I... I'm sorry for all this," he says simply, casting his gaze downwards. "This ... this is all my doing."

"I will say this once, and only once," Nathicana says, looking up at both Treznor and Sourn. "Put them away and save it for the orcs. None of you are helping, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him lay here and--" She stops, and turns back to Alkanphel, her expression softening. "Probably," she says quietly, leaning in to kiss his forehead gently. "Don't worry about that right now. Just rest."

Alkanphel winces in pain, shaking his head weakly. "I'm dying, Nathi. You must protect yourself, safeguard your nation and keep our daughter away from that lunatic," he pleads, content to leave that last statement ambiguous. "He will come for you again."

"Then we will be ready," she says firmly, eyes tightening a bit. "She'll be fine ... and you'll be fine, once you stop fussing and let the medics finish taking care of you."

Alkanphel writhes a bit, coughing up some more blood. "I'm.. I'm sorry," he assures her again. He smiles weakly. "But I'm glad I could save you. Go now, for my time here is nearly at an end," he announces, as the light in his eyes begins to bleed out, leaving trails as he moves his head. Slowly, it grows dimmer as he clutches at her arm weakly.

"Goddammit, boy. We're not out of here yet," she says, leaning in closer, taking hold of his hand and squeezing. "Don't."

"I..." He coughs again. "I wish I could stay," he asserts, his hand falling. The light finally leaves his eyes and he gasps. Reaching out he squeezes her hand tightly for a split second before he expires. "Goodbye," his voice sounds in her mind as the light in his eyes flickers one final time, then his body goes limp.

Nathicana quietly lays his hand down across his chest, then takes a moment to brush the hair back from his face, gently closing his eyes for the last time. "Goodbye, il mio dolce."

Treznor scowls and turns to scan the field. Posthumous. We can praise him posthumously. I'll even be able to smile when I say what a great guy he was.

The aerial barrage was maddening.

Nordanl Bey sat hunkered in what was left of the Ali'Staani transport system. The wreckage alone made it an unpleasent place to confer with his lieutenents and Southron Rebel allies. The bad news was making it worse.

"Gorkin is patient. He'll sit outside the Gates of Ali'Staan for years if he has to. He's one motivated sonofabitch," Izmir Turok was saying.

Hasmad Shakkan frowned. "We all knew this air strike was coming. What can we do about it?"

A rumble shook dust and plaster loose from the wall and ceiling, giving Shakkan's question more teeth.

Izmir shook his head. "Wait it out, I suppose. The city is badly shaken as it is, with this bombardment he'll turn it into rubble."

"That could be a good thing," Shakkan nods. "It'll make a full assault on the city more difficult. We could wage a guerrilla war, hold out for months."

"That's assuming we keep our supply lines open, and with most of Near Harad in Loyalist hands, that's going to be a bitch."

Word from the outside world wasn't encouraging. Rumor was floating around that the Rebel assault on Anfauglith was breaking down. The Xaosis Fleet in orbit had been forced to move away; apparantly, not all of the Fleet had gone over to the Rebels. The Xaosis captains left behind some comm and recon satellites, however, and they had informed Nordanl that Gorkin was staying put.

"Izmir is right," Nordanl said. He stood up and put his hands on his hips, scowling in thought. "He can afford to wait us out. He's got supplies, he's got air power, he's got time. We don't have any of these."

"We've got your ships, don't we?" Izmir looked hopeful. "Could they drop us supplies?"

"Only if Althalon says it's safe to do so, and he's busy trying secure the Fleet. I doubt it's a good idea."

"We need to do something," said Shakkan. "With all do respect, sir, we can't hold the city at this rate."

Nordanl was inclined to agree. His mind raced with thought.

He didn't have a large force up there in orbit, but the Xaosis ships did have some space-to-surface bombardment options. In fact, the flagship, Dragon Eyes had a mean little plasma cannon that could be delivered with accuracy toward a surface force, both as a strategic AND tactical weapon. The trouble was, she had only her fellow ships to protect her from hostile Loyalists, and Nordanl doubted that the Xaosis ships could survive a determined attack for long. He would need Althalon's help.

And that was the tricky part.

"Get me a comm link."


****************************************************************

Tatha was a loyal servant of the Emperor. Twice a year, he came to Angband just to be in the beating heart of the Five Kingdoms and witness the glory of Ardan civilization. He had served in the Army for most of his life, and hoped one day he could sit on the Warlord Council. But in his heart of hearts, he did agree with the Rebels one one point: he passionatly hated Orcs.

He was meeting with one of them right now, though he rather would have been in a dentist chair getting teeth pulled.

The Orc was Torngath, Warboss for the Ironjawz clan. The Ironjawz were the biggest and meanest clan in Near Harad, which made their Warboss the one to talk to when dealing with the Orcish force. Of course, there were dozens of cclans participating in the siege, but all of them were scared witless of Torngath. Which made him Da Boss.

"We'se gettin' tired of all this sittin' and spittin'" Torngath growled, pacing around Gorkin's tent. "Da Boyz are wantin to sink claws into da rebels gutses."

Despite his grammer, Torngath addressed a big problem in the Loyalist force.

"We have to be patient," replied Gorkin. "The Rebels cannot hold the city. I promise, within weeks, the Imperial Flag will fly over the city."

"We dont's care about any flagz or city. We Orcs are fightin' boyz, we gonna bloody some axes and kill us some stupid humies."

Gorkin suppressed his irritation. "The Emperor appointed me as commander of this force, which means that I speak in his name. If your "boyz" should go against my words, are you willing to answer to Him?"

That did the trick. There wasn't an Orc alive who didn't fear Melkor more then anything.

Torngath stopped and glared at Gorkin. "If da Biggest Boss says wait, we wait." Gorkin was about to sigh with relief, but Torngath went on. "If da Biggest Boss says go, thatsa different thing."

"What?" Gorkin suppressed another wave of emotion: Fear. Could he do it? Could Torngath have enough pull to go over his head? After all, the Orcs outnumbered the Southron Guard immensely. And rumor had it that the Emperor was growing more distrusteful of humans.......

Torngath snorted. "Humies don't give orders around here, unless da Boss says so. Da Boss has been sayin' lots of stuff about humies these days, and maybe you should pay mind to it." Torngath grinned without humor. "But your da Boss here. You do whatever." Curtly, the big Orc left.

If what Torngath said was true, Gorkin had more problems then just the Rebels. For the first time since the war began, he started to wonder if they had the right idea after all.

"Don't worry, Red. He's gone to a better place." Away from you, to be precise.

Ogan shouts a litany of commands to his men, and several of them run through the ranks to the fallen Maia, hoping the bear his body off to some more remote and secure locale. As a large Sergeant approaches the body, however, it begins to crumble and turn gray, as if changing to ash. Sourn and his men look on in horror as the wind begins to carry it away, and a cry rings out from the assembled company, at the moment to dumbstruck to offer a coherent explanation.

Sourn furrows his brow, standing still for a moment until an orc-call brings them back to reality. Several pulse rifle muzzles light up, and a stray band of orcs falls dead as they attempt to retreat to the gate. "Lets get out of here," says the Field Commander, shaken visibly.

Nathicana watches in silence, her jaw tightening as what's left of Alkanphel quite literally slips through her fingers. "His sword," she says woodenly, not looking up. "Someone take up his sword for me."

Treznor kneels down to gather Nathicana into his arms and pick her up once again. He feels a slight quiver in his muscles and forces them to obey. I'm gonna pay for this, later. "C'mon, Red. Let's get under cover. There's still a battle going on around here."

The Field Commander directs Treznor's attention to the vast ashen plain below, where what's left of the orcs is running screaming from the mass of Easterling and Haradrim marines. "It's all but over, my friend. We have routed the Orcs. Tis a miraculous victory, to say the least. I've never seen anything like it. Our losses have been astoundingly low."

Treznor looks in the direction Sourn is pointing and whistles appreciatively. "That's a sight that does my soul good. Have you got word from your ships?"

Sourn signals to a nearby squad of marines, who obediently take up the massive greatsword wielded by Alkanphel some minutes earlier. Slowly, they begin to trudge down towards Anfauglith. "We'll find out when we get to HQ and talk to Althalon. My understanding is that his control of orbit was only a matter of time. You should be out of here within the next 24 hours."

Nathicana shakes her head slightly, but doesn't really resist as Treznor picks her up. She snuggles in close while still looking down at the spot Alkanphel had been, not having the heart to talk of 'victory' or further battles. "His sword, Ogan. Please," she asks again, then shivers, not seeing they already have it.

Not soon enough for my liking. He holds Nathicana close. "They've got the sword. Now let's get you taken care of. You still need medical attention, and we could all use some rest."

Ogan stops for a moment, gathering his bearings. The usual mirth that had been present until now in the company of Sourn's marines is absent, and most of their heads are cast downward in grief, though the Sergeants steel themselves against their emotions, remaining vigilant for any threats. Periodically, they must rally their squads back to attention, as the grief is great. "This way," commands Sourn, leading them towards a massive pile of Orcish dead.

"They have ..." Nathi blinks slowly and looks up, then nods. "Right, right ... I'm fine, Dev. No stopping. I just want to go home."

"No problem. A hot meal, a good soak in the tub and a nice feather bed. We'll be there before you know it." He picks his way through the rubble carefully as he follows Sourn.

After some time, the party reaches the main lines, and the bulk of Sourn's marines split off accordinly, meeting up with other elements of their batallion. Soon they come to a very large tent with a number of crests adorining its front face, surrounded by massive power-armored guards.

"Here we are," announces the bald Easterling as he leads them to the entrance. Two guards pull aside the flaps and gesture for them to enter, the two marines still bearing Alkanphel's sword waiting patiently behind.

Treznor nods to his remaining men who preceed him in the tent, then carries Nathicana inside. She tenses as they enter though she says nothing, quietly trusting Treznor implicitly.

Warlord Althalon absently beckons the party to them, discussing something on his communicator in Easterling. Gesturing for them to sit, several guards hasten to their sides and provide chairs. Sourn heaves a sigh. "I don't think he knows yet," he comments, noting the Warlord's rather jovial mood. "I hate being the bearer of bad news."

Treznor says nothing, his lips compressed into a thin line. I'd love to gloat about it, but this is neither the time nor the place. It can't come from me, not now.

Ogan shoots a sidelong glance to Treznor, surmising by his expression that he's struggling to internalize his thoughts on the matter. Still, he figures, it's probably for the best, as blood stains have proven difficult to remove from this particular manner of tapestry.

Eventually, Althalon finishes and hangs up his comm. "Hello!" he says cheerily, walking around to the front of his desk. "Glad to see you all are alright. Today seems to have gone rather well, if I say so myself," he comments with a grin, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. He furrows a brow as he looks to the massive sword wielded by the pair or marines. "What the hell is that?"

Treznor ignores the question and takes the seat offered to him without letting go of his burden. "Nathicana needs a doctor. She's been starved and dehydrated for a while, and gods only know what else those bastards did to her."

Konrad nods knowingly. "I've got a crew on the way. Our losses have been light, but we've been suffering a lot of injuries. They'll be here any minute now, I wasn't expecting you back so soon and sent them out to attend to a pair of officers who caught some shrapnel from an Orcish mine."

As if on que, three white-clad apothecaries stride into the tent and produce their equipment, kneeling on either side of Nathi. The third approaches Treznor. "Are you alright?" He asks simply, clasping his arms behind his back.

Treznor nods his head toward the woman in his arms. "Worry about her. We just need some food and rest."

"It's his," Nathi says simply, not meeting Konrad's gaze. "And I'm fine."

"His? What his??" Althalon asks, his voice becoming more alarmed. "Where's Alkanphel?"

Nathicana shrinks back against Devon. "I said, I'm fine," she says clutching him more tightly. "Don't touch me."

The Emperor frowns at his men, still standing attentively nearby. "Sit down, dammit. There's nothing more we can do here." He sighs and shakes his head at the attendants. "Hold off a minute." Then he looks at her intently for a few moments.

<LOS Communications - Nathicana>
{
>> You've been through the meat grinder, and you know it. Why won't you let them help you?

<< I'm fine. I don't need help. Just make them go away.

>> Nobody is going to touch you without permission, but you're not fine. I'm here, Red. Nobody is going to hurt you while I'm around.

Althalon waves the medics off and leans up against his desk, eyeing the two of them thoughtfully. Without looking up at him, he dismisses Sourn and his marines with a simple command. His gaze alternates between Devon and Nathicana with no small amount of interest as he folds his arms over his chest.

"He's gone, Konrad. He's gone. He fell, and he's gone ..." Nathi continues to keep close to Treznor, still not meeting anyone's eyes.

<< I will be fine. Tired. Just tired.

>> All right. You rest. Can you stay awake long enough to eat?

"Gone?" asks the Warlord, dumbfounded. "Gone?!" The medics murmur amongst themselves and soon Althalon dismisses them too. "How?"

Treznor looks up in irritation. "Morgoth set a trap, with her as bait. It's been a while since I've gone through the elven texts, but I think they called it a balrog. He fought it while we got away, and they killed each other."

<< Not hungry. You eat.

>> Have some broth for me please. Then I'll stop pestering you, I promise.

"This is grave news indeed," notes the Easterling as he heaves a sigh. "While we did of course gather it was a trap, this puts me in something of an interesting predicament. I wasn't prepared to lead this movement, but in his abscence I will likely be forced to do just that...." he trails off, casting his gaze to the ground, murmuring a string of Easterling curses under his breath.

"You can, and you will," Nathi says quietly, looking up at the man finally.

<< Alright.

Treznor allows the faintest of smirks to cross his face. "You've made more progress than anyone else in the past few decades. Do you have the resources to finish the job?"

Warlord Althalon draws in a deep breath and raises his voice, calling for an aide, who scurries in promptly. "Order for a full retreat, I want everything uprooted and moved within 48 hours. Get the PC on the ball and start spreading news of our victory. Organize a Rally in Daturias where I'll speak concerning our cause upon our army's return to Nova Rhun. I'll give you more details later. Go. Now."

The aide salutes to the Warlord as he heaves himself off the desk and paces in front of it. "No, my friend, we do not. This campaign was designed specifically for her rescue, and to destroy Morgoth's primary assault force for attacking my homeland, Nova Rhûn. Cracking Angband itself is very near impossible."

Treznor nods unexpectedly and turns to his men. "Marko, arrange for some hot broth for the Dread Lady. Then you two get yourselves settled." He then turns back to Althalon. "What do you need to finish it, then? This is your fight, but there are a lot of people willing to back you up. I have a bone to pick with the man, myself."

"You don't have to fight alone." Nathi shifts slightly against Treznor, looking more focused than she has in a while.

Konrad_Althalon shakes his head. "It would be a waste of time. We destroyed this force here, but hundreds upon millions of Orcs await us should we attempt to finish this now. Without Alkanphel's leadership, moreover, the men are likely to be demoralized. A good commander knows when to cut his losses, and being that we've only seen one out of six Balrogs and no Dragons, that time is now."

Treznor frowns. "I've read the histories. Morgoth is a coward. You've won a victory here, whatever the cost, and you need to press your advantage. We can back you up, and we can bring in as much help as you need. No elves. If you stand up to him and keep pressing, he'll run. He always has."

Althalon shakes his head again. "No. The last army to break down Angband's gates were Vanyar and Valar. We are neither. Without Alkanphel, our cheif advantage is gone. As we speak, Morgoth is liekly marshalling his next assault, one that will crush us before your help can possibly arrive. We will withdraw, and gather more support. Don't forget, there's still Utumno to contend with as well."

"You do intend to continue fighting, yes?" Nathicana asks, watching Konrad intently. "If not here, then elsewhere?"

"Of course," he answers, his tone softening as he turns his attention to Nathi. "Very much so. But right now we need to spread word of Morgoth's defeat and gather more support amongst the populace. Today's events are likely to change many a mind."

Nathicana nods briefly, then replies in a fairly steady tone. "Then the Dominion will stand with you."

Treznor glances up at Marko as the soldier re-enters the tent and accepts the steaming mug from him. He hands to Nathicana gently. "Here you go." Then he looks up at Althalon again. "So will the Empire."

She takes the mug and slowly sips without further comment, though she does give Treznor's hand a subtle squeeze.

Konrad nods. "Excellent. I am not in the habit of using others to fight my own battles, but I can see the two of you have a rather vested personal interest in this situation, and understandably so. The men," he gestures to Nathi, "are likely every bit as loyal to her as they were to Alkanphel. His feelings for her were made quite clear to us in his speeches and rallies--many of my men revere her almost as their own Empress." He grins a bit. "Though it will be hard to find a spin to deal with the Empire's support. Suffice to say, I don't think any of my officers will be interested in owing any sort of debt to Treznor should we emerge victorious. Can't have our balls in more than one basket, you know," he says with a weak sort of chuckle.

Treznor shrugs gently, careful of the woman in his arms. "I'm willing to make my army subordinate to yours. It's not about owing anyone. It's about taking care of a common foe. Morgoth made this personal, and I wouldn't be pleased to let that slide. I grew up in the Dominion; I don't take vendetta lightly."

The mug nearly slips from Nathicana's fingers at Konrad's comment on loyalty, and she hastily attempts to right it. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking, trying to follow the conversation back and forth. "Vendetta. Exactly. If your men are unwilling to accept help offered by your word alone Konrad, then I will make them see the use in it. To not use every advantage ..." She shakes her head for a moment as if to clear it before nestling back in against Treznor. "Rest, per favore. Then more talk."

Althalon nods. "So long as the entire Triumvirate doesn't get dragged into this, I'm happy. There is still, of course, the issue of how the rest of Arda will respond to this. I've no idea how many states are yet loyal to Morgoth, but it's something of a comfort to me that none have come out of the woodwork to support him. Their silence, I think, speaks volumes. Still, I'm not convinced."

Treznor grins. "My involvement doesn't need to be bandied about. I'm willing to understate it, but I am involved. The Triumvirate and the NDA will stay out of it if we tell them to. I won't speak for the Dominion, though. Nath can make her own decisions about her armies."

Althalon nods knowingly. "I can have my men here lead you to your quarters if you wish," he says with a nod to Nathi. "I still have much work to do."

Treznor nods and gently takes the mug from Nathicana's hands. "She's right. We all need rest, and we can organise this later. If you have to withdraw now, then do it. We've got tomorrow to hammer out the details."

"Very well then. Should you need anything, I'll likely sleep at my desk tonight, so you know where to reach me."

Treznor stands and nods, carefully balancing Nathicana before following Althalon's men outside.

In the vastness of space, the earth looked like a mere bright point of blue white light in the sky, barely worth noticing amidts the blanket of stars. Nevertheless, the fleet of Xaosis ships, such as it was, proceeded toward it with almost grim determination.

In the lead ship, Mardai Sehndem sat in his spacious private quarters, sipping red wine (Ironically of a Dominion vintage), and reading the latest comm transmission from Nordanl Bey.


Chief,

I'll spare you the military language here. We're in deep shit.

Figures, Sehndem thought, grunting to himself

On the plus side of things, it seems from what i can see from our satellites that the Rebel assault on Anfauglith has succeeded. Right now they're pulling back and shoring up Nova Rhun. They ain't stupid, the Giant is gonna hit back and hit hard.

Problem is, as far as Ali'Staan is concerned, the assault has started. I don't know what the hell Gorkin is thinking, but I'm sure he's pretty spooked by the Rebel victory. Instead of laying siege, he's letting his Orcs hit us with everything they got.

Although this beats the hell out of a siege, I didn't expect this to happen, not right away, at least. I don't know how long I can hold them, but if I can get my ships back over the skies I can unleash a firestorm that'll send even the meanest Orc running for momma.

But I don't know how secure the skies are, and I need Althalon's protection. That, and I doubt that the new regime is going to approve of me bombing the hell out of this place without being informed first. I won't lie to you boss, without those ships, we won't last a week. If Ali'Staan falls, Tatha can advance toward Anfauglith and join his force with the counterattack on Nova Rhun. I don't need to tell you what that will mean.

Sehndem sighed, and set the datafile down. He had a feeling things were strechy: on instinct, he had gathered some ships and made the decision to come back to Earth himself.

The Board hadn't liked it one bit, but they could do little to stop him. Not as long as they were stuck on Araman, at least.

Sehndem was aware of the risks. There were a number of governments, after all, who wanted him dead or captured. Still, he was fed up with just tweaking Morgoth. He wanted to hurt the bastard, hurt him where it counted.

For that to happen, Xaosis had to do more then just be allied to the Rebels.

Sehndem's intent was to bend knee and acknowledge an Emperor.




****************************************************************


Deep space pulse burst signal, coded:

Hello, old friend

I hope you still remember the code we devised. I never thought either of us would end up using it, but such is life, I suppose. You always were the ambitious sort, Konrad. No doubt that is why we became friends.....and later, enemies. I'm hoping that once again things can change between us, so I have seen fit to come to Nova Rhun myself. We have things to discuss, you and I, and for the first time in ten years, shall we take counsel together, as we once did? Shall we speak of the future and plan our oh so ambitious and grand designs, like we did since we were children? We've both become great men, Konrad. There is much we can do for each other

Mardai

In the Ministry of War Command Center, in a bunker under Hofburg, computer screens and plasma screens were lit up with flows of information, pictures from GUDA satellites and communications with command centers in Ienotheisa, Astra and allied countries like Menelmacar. It was a rare occasion; not merely the duty general officer commanding but Admiral de Goethe, General Franze, and Field Marshal von Seydlitz were present along with Baron Shein, who was smoking and coughing nastily in a chair, the only one of the four seated.
"My God." said an officer. She rose; her face looked bloody in the light, and it seemed to stain the gold braid on her shoulder boards as she went up to hand a printout to General Franze.
He read it, expressionless. His own blue Air Force uniform seemed to glow in the light of the room. Then he turned to de Goethe and said, "Madame Minister, this is a theoretical casualty list from the rebellion so far..."
"Gott im Himmel. Such blood spilt." she said, shaking her head. "And yet I suppose it was inevitable, all things considered. What will happen now, I wonder?" Gathering herself, she said, "I must make a report to the Chancellor so that he can brief the Empress on what has happened. Please keep me informed of any further developments."

Nathicana hugs the blanket around her shoulders tightly as she peeks out the entrance of the tent she and Treznor had been taken to, just a short ways away from Konrad's. "I wish to speak to the Warlord," she says, not sounding nearly so imperious as she intends, to the guards outside. She still wasn't certain that going was a good idea, even if only for a few short yards away. Glancing back to where the Emperor was sleeping in an exhausted pile, she bit her lower lip, then carefully stepped forward..

The guards step aside in unison and bow their heads. "Of course, my Lady. Show yourself in. The Warlord should be sleeping, however he's left us instructions to allow your entry. You may wake him if you wish."

She nods, eyes flickering back and forth, watching for any signs of trouble, her usual air of confidence gone. With a lightly shaking hand, she adjusts the blanket closer, needing to feel somewhat safe as she makes her way gingerly to the Warlord's tent, and ducks inside.

Althalon is a light sleeper, and it shows. As soon as Nathi steps into the tent, one eye is opened just enough, and the Easterling watches the Dread Lady for a moment, still breathing heavily as if asleep. He eventually decides that it's a futile effort, however, and he lifts up his head. "Good evening," he starts with a groggy bob of his head. "What can I do for you?"

Too nervous to notice, Nathi looks quickly around the tent, eyes wide, pulse racing. She nearly jumps out of her skin when he speaks, letting out a little choked shriek and dropping her blanket. "I, ah ... that is we ..." She grabs the blanket from off the ground, tugging it around her shoulders again even though she doesn't need it.

Konrad sits silent for a moment, letting her regain her composure. "Yes?"

"I couldn't sleep," Nathi says a little too quickly, stepping forward and pulling up a chair with a shaky hand. "I need to get out of here, Konrad. As soon as possible. It isn't safe. I keep thinking I'll turn around and he'll be ..." The woman cuts off abruptly in the middle of her rapidly-spoken words, looking back to Konrad rather than around the room as she's been doing. "Please. I have to go, now."

The big man rubs his eyes and yawns groggily, nodding as he grabs a cigarette and lights it. "Yes, I understand. We brought you back here to Daturias to do just that. We should have a shuttle coming down tomorrow evening to take you back."

Nathicana swallows, her mouth working quietly for a moment. "No sooner?" she finally asks, her voice taking on a hint of urgency.

Althalon leans back in his chair a bit. "Um... no, well, not really. There's still a lot going on in orbit: I've got control over most of the fleets now, though, which is why I was able to arrange this."

She bites her lower lip, once again glancing furtively around the tent, her hands twitching now and then nervously. "What do we do til then?" A pause, then she continues in a more urgent tone. "Can you keep any of them out that long?"

The warlord laughs. "You're safe with us, my Lady. We've crushed Morgoth's assault force: there isn't an orc between us and Angband, currently."

Nathicana shakes her head. "It isn't orcs I'm worried about."

He furrows a brow. "What, then? Corruption from within?"

"Men," she says quietly, shivering at the memories. "Sable Fist."

Althalon is now much more intrigued. His other eyebrow shoots up. "So he used my boys, eh? Were they the ones who kidnapped you then?"

Nathi's eyes go wide at that, the color draining from her face. She tenses, drawing back against her chair, not daring to take her eyes of Konrad. "Yours?" she chokes out, not understanding.

He nods slowly. "Yes, I founded the Sable Fist about 15 years ago. Morgoth has taken a shining to them. Apparently I trained them a bit too well. Their commander is one Aros Antanamir: I imagine he'd have been on the team to capture you."

"You bastard," she says, looking both frightened and betrayed as she clutches the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. She does however, nod in confirmation. Fifteen years ago. Fifteen. Not now.

Konrad laughs nervously. "Yeah... heh. The SF is one of those goups we were very interested in gaining support form, but most of them are Numenorians or horribly corrupted Southrons. We havent got more than but a few hundred supporters from the Fist."

"Can't trust anyone," Nathi murmurs distractedly, glancing back around the room as if half expecting those men to jump out of the shadows. "Aros ... and Sarge ... and M--" She shudders, and looks back to Konrad, shaking her head. "I never thought you were like them. I always thought you were better."

"Well I am," he notes as he ashes his cigarette. "I trained them, after all. They were a nice buncha guys when I started, but Morgoth has had his way with their minds. They know not what they do."

Her eyes narrow at that. "Sonna cazzate!" she says vehemently, and with a good deal more hatred than is likely he's ever seen from her. "They know exactly what they do. And they bloody well enjoy it. They ought to be hunted down and beaten to within an inch of their miserable fucking lives, healed up, and then beaten all over again."

Althalon grimaces. "Alas, sad times have come upon us when I say that I agree with you. They were once noble men, but have fallen now beyond the even the Emperor's grace."

"Emperor? Grace? What in hell are you going on about? Those bastardi ..." Nathi continues on for a moment, lapsing into her native tongue, looking more and more nervous by the moment.

Konrad gestures with his cigarette, putting his feet up on his desk. "You know, Alkanphel. He's deified as far as the rebels are concerned, you know." He levels his gaze at Nathi. "So are you."

This, being said so plainly, brings her up short, and she looks back at Konrad, just blinking. "No ... no, that isn't right ... "

He takes another hit. "Well, it might not be right, but its true, and he's dead now, so any ideas you have on the subject would be great, since I'm all out. He wasn't lying when he said he loved you Nathi. Trust me on this."

"He wouldn't listen to me," she says quietly, letting the statement stand as she looks down at her hands, speaking without malice. "He always was an idiot that way. And now he's dead. And so is Hattori. All while others who ought to be dead still live. And they aren't the only ones, Konrad. And it won't end here."

Althalon nods simply as he finishes what remains of his cigarette. "Sad but true. Regardless of all of that, I've got to get my shit straight for the rally next week anyway. Gotta figure out how to best play my hand."

"Irradicate the Fist," she says firmly, not caring if it sounds irrational. "Aside from that, you need us out and back so we can begin gathering our troops to assist yours. As for the rally ..." she frowns and shivers again, nothing having gone quite as she'd hoped so far, somehow ending feeling hurt, angry, and confused.

He sighs. "We do not at present have any agents capable of dispatching the Fist. They are truly the best of the best: they're rather impossible to track and even more difficult to subdue in combat. Many are augged. Alkanphel was pretty much his own contingency as far as the Fist was concerned: aside from myeself, he's about the only one that can be counted on to hold his own against them. But with him gone, it makes them that much more of an X factor."

"Augs can be gotten around. Use bigger guns. I'll fucking set whoever I need to after them to bring those bastards in," she says hatefully, her emotions continuing to flicker back and forth with none of her usual control.

Konrad nods. "Augs or no, I still whoop those boy's asses." He taps his head and grins. "Gotta fight em off with yer smarts!" He spits unceremoniously into his ashtray and douses his cigarette, folding his hands behind his head. "I'd assume that's how you handled them. At least, to the extent which you were able."

"Surprise and drugs can rather tip the balance," she says, glaring at Konrad with rather a lot of spite. "Add to that superior numbers, and I'm sure you can understand how the situation deteriorated rather quickly for me."

The large man nods a bit. "Well, yeah, I mean after the capture," he says, gesturing. "The initial circumstances of the capture are pretty much a crapshoot: sometimes these things can just catch you off guard. Hell, thats what happened the night a Xaosis assasin shot me 7 times and left me for dead."

"I was sloppy. I paid for it," she says, the corners of her eyes tightening further. "Looks like we'll both have lived through our little experiences, none too worse for wear." The tone in her voice seems to say otherwise all the same. "Konrad, I need you to do two things for me. One, get me the hell out of this place before tomorrow night, I don't care what it takes. I think if I have to be here much longer I'll go mad. Two, I want Malik Kordiyeh on a fucking platter. And I don't care how you manage it."

"Kordiyeh?" Asks Althalon, leaning forward. "How do you know his name? Surely a Sable Fist operative wouldnt let his name slip in the field."

"I'm not a complete idiot, Konrad," she snaps. "That beast was easy enough to ident once I'd heard his first name, which he had no problem letting out. The Dominion is not as blind as you'd like to think."

Althalon blinks. "I'm surprised they'd use him on a frontline capacity like that. I'd have never put him on a mission like that." He eyes Nathi dubiously. "How do you know that name?"

"I have my methods," she says, glaring back at him while trying unsuccessfully to supress a shudder.

Konrad ponders for a moment. "He may have been stationed at that base when you came in, but I doubt he'd be part of the exec cap. Where did you see him?"

"He bloody well pulled me off my goddamn balcony, and shot me so full of sedatives it made me sick, Konrad. What the fuck do you think I've been going on about?"

The warlord grimaces. "Jesus. Not a pleasant experience, that." Jotting something down, he folds his hands and relaxes a bit. "I'll have them found and brought to justice if I am able. Morgoth is onto something with this selection though, and it perturbs me. I don't understand why someone like Malik would be on a team like that. He's just not.. anywhere...near...conventional..."

Nathicana looks away, not meeting Konrad's eyes as he speaks, drawing her blanket more tightly around her and drawing her legs up onto the chair for good measure. "I don't care how you do it, I don't care what it takes," she says quietly, her moods continuing to shift back and forth. "Just do it. Money isn't a factor. You'll have it. Manpower, I'll provide it. Whatever intel I have that you can use, it's yours."

He blinks. "Of course. I'll do everything I can. Why?"

"Because I'm asking you to," she says, still not looking at him.

Althalon doesn't take that for an answer. "What happened? Why him?"

"He hurt me, Konrad. And since my time back in the schools, I've made it a practice to never let anyone get away with hurting me," she finally says after a long pause.

The warlord sighs and pinches his brows. As he lights another cigarette, he deactivates a recording device she probably hand't previously noticed. "If there was ever someone who needed to know exactly what's going on right now, Nathi, it's me,. With Alkanphel dead, I need to be able to dissect Morgoth's every move. Did he ever tell you where the Angband stone was?

Her brows shoot up as he turns off the recording. "The only thing keeping me from coming across that desk right now is the fact I can barely keep on my feet for long as is, you son of a bitch. No, I don't know anything about the stone. I had one once, but I gave it back to Alkanphel. Morgoth barely took the time to gloat. He certainly didn't bother letting me know anything important."

"Yes, you had the Orthanc Stone," he points out, lighting two cigarettes now instead of one. "But he never told you anything about another one? The one he stole from Morgoth's throne room?"

"I don't know a damn thing about it, Konrad. If Alkanphel secreted it away somewhere, he never told me. Surely one of his men must know," she says truthfully.

Althalon nods. "Yes I'm in the process of trying to track those men down. He took in a team of about 30 marines and assaulted Morgoth's throne room some time ago while the Dark Lord was issuing a speech, and he died before I could get to him for the information." He eyes Nathi, ashing his cigarette again. "Pity."

"Then I don't know what to tell you. So long as he doesn't have it anymore, I suppose that's something," she replies, watching him carefully.

Konrad plucks both cigarettes from his mouth and blows the smoke out his nose. "Yes, it is. It's something, but it's not everything. I just wish all of this was easier, you know?" He snorts. "Nonetheless, we'll have you off and everyting in order here so I suppose we're doing fairly well for ourselves."

"What does not kill us makes us stronger," Nathi mutters, her expression tightening again.

"Indeed. If I can be of any further assistance to you please don't hesitate to contact me. The two of us are probably at the top of Morgoth's list now. Eerie isn't it?"

Nathicana shivers involuntarily, her face paling again. "'Eerie' isn't quite what I'd call it, Konrad. Not by half. I need to know, though. Those who followed Alkanphel. If what you say is true, I have an obligation."

The Warlord nods and douses his cigarettes. "You certainly do. Near as much obligation as I have, I reason. The Men who assaulted Anfaulglith knew they were doing what they were doing primarily for your rescue. Don't forget that."

Nathicana glares at Konrad again. "Unlike some, I do not take such service lightly, boy. Had that bastard Morgoth not taken it upon himself to meddle in my personal life, they wouldn't have had to. Don't forget that."

Althalon blinks. "I wouldn't presume to. We're not interested in accounting for Morgoth's actions here."

"Fine and well. I'm reminded that the men will need a symbol or some assurance that their leader's influence and support has not completely gone," Nathi says with a thoughtful frown. "How much do you know about Alkanphel's reasons for this, and his eventual goals?"

"For the rebellion you mean?"

Nathicana nods, watching his reaction.

"You," he says simply with a short sort of half nod. "As for his goals, well.... who knows. Probably you also."

Nathicana looks decidedly uncomfortable at all of that. "We cannot let that be the focus, regardless of his original intent may have been."

"I'll figure something out. You just worry about getting back up on your feet after all this..unpleasantness. I'm sorry Nathi, I really am."

"So am I, Konrad," she answers, still unwilling to outright say any more than she has to on it. "All the same, things will need to be done, whether I'm 'on my feet' or not. And the men will need a better focus. And if you didn't know previously, there's something else you ought to know about. We'll talk on it once I'm safely home."

Althalon reaches for another cigarette. "Don't do this to me."

"The sooner I'm home, the sooner we can talk. Surely, if I can wait til tomorrow night in this place, you can wait for a bit more information to work with," she says flatly.

Konrad laughs. "You were the one who came here Nathi. I told you and Devon when we spoke last when the next transport was coming to get you out of here. Perhaps you wanted to tell me after all?"

"It isn't safe here. And I don't know how much he knows," she says, rolling her eyes slightly. "It's as simple as that, boy. Nothing personal. And nothing as earth-shattering as where one of the Stones is. I've already told you, I've no idea. Relax."

Althalon lights his cigarette and attempts to comply. Eyeing the pack, he thinks for a moment, and holds it out with a questioning look. "Alright, alright, I'll relent. I'm just climbing the goddamn walls over here."

Nathicana arches a brow, then shakes her head slightly with a quiet murmured 'no thank you'. "You ought to get some real sleep, then," she observes. "At least have a cot brought in or something, and I'll leave you to it. If Devon wakes up and I'm not there, he's liable to tear the camp apart looking for me. And I can't seem to think straight anymore, regardless."

The warlord grins wryly. "This baby here," he raps his desk with his fist. "Is my cot. And looks like it will be for the foreseeable future," he says with a chuckle. "And yes, I can sympathize. It can't be easy to think right now. It's hard enough for me, but for all the bullshit you've been through... Jesus."

"You've no idea." Nathi gets unsteadily to her feet, grasping the edge of the desk for balance. "You're going to need me on this one. I'll do what I can."

Althalon nods again, standing swiftly as soon as he notices her lack of balance. "Just get some rest. I'll see you before they send you off in the morning."

She mutters something in her native language under her breath, though it sounds more tired than anything. "Well, I managed to toddle in here well enough, but it seems I've overestimated myself on getting back. Could I ask for a hand, if nothing else, to not look worse in front of the men than I probably already have? I'd like to salvage what little dignity I have left at this point."

Konrad nods and makes haste to the other side of his desk, where he steadies Nathi against his solid frame, and laughs a little. "Think nothing of it. You're like royalty to me," he says with a wink. "Now where did they put you up again?"

"Don't start that bullshit with me, Konrad," she says, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as they start out. "Just there, off to the side. Thankfully close."

Althalon shouts something in Easterling to the men outside, who make themselves scarce as he leads her outside. "Ah yes, I think there was some issue about keeping your party near the infirmary," he says with a nod to the south. "Lets go."

Imperial Space Agency Facility, outside Astra City, Lavenrunz

Following an extensive systems check and personnel check, the sleek shuttlecraft Brinsingamen was ready, attached to its propulsion device and ready for launch.

By the standards of a number of the NDA nations or VERITAS nations it was a rather primitive operation; Lavenrunz had spent less on spacecraft than on satellite systems. It had a single actual spacefaring ship, an older model gravship that was principally a military transport, mostly faring between Machievelli Station and Lavenrunzian Ceres, while a solar powered cycler made a constant peregrination between Ceres and the moon, where small but powerful orbital transports that provided the goods needed to keep Lavenrunz' satellites going were attached to the small shuttle fleet. However, the maintenance of the old GUDA satellite system that Lavenrunz had co-opted following the end of that treaty had been a major part of the protection and the signals intelligence system of the Teutonic Empire.

One thing Archduke Carl, the most recent Director of the ISA had vowed to do was make sure that these satellites were upkept, and he was proud now to see the first major effort of the year in that direction. Alien scientists from Derkesthai, Tsaraine and the Kymn which had settled as refugees some years ago also happily watched from the shielded viewing room, and broke into self congratulation of excitement as the launching mechanism began to plume smoke and fire, and then hurtled the shuttlecraft up towards the outer reaches of the atmosphere. Carl paused to shake some hands, and said, "Well done, ladies and gentlemen. We have stood by Empress Joanna, of memory ever glorious, and Her decision not to rely on the purchase of foreign technology for our defence, but rather to augment what abilities we have."

This was not strictly true; no one was imprudent enough to mention the order of aerospace fighters which were on order from the Dominion, or the fact that without the support of the NDA the space program would possibly have collapsed. But it sounded great...

The Xaosis registered transport glided over the Nova Rhun city of Daturias. Mardai Sehndem stared out his private window regarding his birthplace with no small curiosity. He took it as a good sign that his former friend (and former enemy) Althalon wished to meet him here, in the city where they both grew up. Little had changed from those days, it seemed. In the dying light of the westering sun the city looked like a maze of blood and iron. In fact, that was the reason for his naming the Xaosis mercenaries "Blood and Iron."

In any event, the transport slowed and began it's landing on the Rebel base outside of town, where, he imagined, an escort awaited him.

Konrad Althalon didn't bother with the escorts, instead opting to meet Sehndem himself. Drawing his hand from behind his back, he extends it to Sehndem as he approaches. "Hello, Sehndem. I trust you're well?"

Sehndem regarded the outstretched hand, supressing a grim smile. At their last encounter, Konrad very nearly killed him. Before that, Xaosis assassins had very nearly killed Konrad. It was, without a doubt, a bizarre set of circumstances. Sehndem took his hand and nodded. "I'm a lot better now then when I left Earth, Konrad. You too, it seems."

"Thanks," he answers dryly, turning on his heels towards the compound. "What is it you wish to discuss exactly?"

Sehndem chuckles. "You never were a social creature, Konrad. All right then." He falls into step along side. "You know what will happen if Ali'Staan falls." It was a statement, not a question.

Althalon appears more than a little irritated. "Ali'Staan is not at the moment the cheif of my concerns, which is why you're handling it. My armies have to deal with the threat of Utumno and the growing menace to Nova Rhun."

Sehndem nodded, and kept silent for a moment as they entered the compound

Althalon leads his companion into a lift and keys in their destination, the hiss of coolant filling the capsule as they descend. "So what is the nature of your query?"

Sehndem rests against the elevator wall casually. "I'm here to discuss two things, old friend. Aid to Ali'Staan, and," he paused, "the feasibility of Xaosis joining the new Empire."

Althalon raises an eyebrow. "Joining? Elaborate."

Here we go, Sehndem thinks to himself. "I can read the writing on the wall. After the new regime takes power, you are going to have to rebuild. The economy is going to need reorganizing from the ground up." He raised an eyebrow. "There's also the fact that Morgoth has been my enemy longer then he's been yours. Needless to say, neither I nor the board of
directors feel that Araman has many....oppurtunities left for us, under the circumstances."

"Fair enough, I suppose," Konrad notes. "We've definately got our work cut out for us. We don't know yet if we're going to
be accepting any outside help, but then we haven't quite gotten an offer like this."

Sehndem turned toward the door as it hissed open, and politely waited for Althalon to lead the way. "Well, of course we'll need to iron out some details."

"Indeed. We've already received pledges of support from the Dominion and the Empire of Treznor. I trust that won't be a
problem?"

Sehndem laughs as they walk down the hall. "You're joking. The very fact that we are even speaking together shows that this War has created strange bedfellows."

"Indeed it has," Konrad agrees, noting his interesting choice of words. "Perhaps in more ways than you understand. So
what was the planned extent of this partnership?"

"That depends," he shrugs. "I won't lie to you, Konrad. Xaosis has taken quite a beating the past few years. But the Company would be willing to serve as an economic arm of the Imperium, and becoming full citizens of Nova Rhun, Near and Far Harad, and all the rest." He looks to Konrad. "A lot of us want to come home."

"Perhaps," offers Althalon, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk as they enter his office. Discarding his cloak, the
Warlord sits down. "Economic arm?"

Sehndem sits in the offered chair. "The aformentioned rebuilding, Konrad. Xaosis could offer jobs and financial incentives. Sure, I've been kicked off the planet and sent to exile on a rock in space, but Xaosis is still worth trillions in adjusted credits. Mind if I smoked?"

Go ahead," Althalon says with a nod. "And I suppose some sort of stimulus would increase your value. I'm sure this is worth
considering."

"I've already got a division of troops on Ali'Staan," Sehndem explains. "I've got more coming. Obviously, we'll be the primary military force in the city, even after the war, I imagine. Already, plans are being made to form a new Home Office there once the war ends. But for that to happen, I need your help."

"Indeed, but much still must be discussed, I'm sure. I'm not certain just how we plan on running things now that Alkanphel
is gone."

Sehndem sat up in his chair. "Look, what I need right now is very simple. I've got a ship, the Dragon Eyes, up in orbit. What I don't have is enough ships to protect her from a Loyalist attack in space. You, however, have plenty." Sehndem lit his cigarrette, which was as always stamped with a dollar sign. "If you can do that for me, I can bomb the bejeezus out of Gorkin's attack force." He took a hit and continued, "an attack force that won't be able to join the assault on Nova Rhun if it's tied up in Near Harad, I might point out."

"Yes, I'm more than aware. Your diversion is key. Our control of orbit is still iffy at best, though. Still, its only a
matter of time."

"That's just it." Sehndem took another drag and grinned. "All I need is 36 hours. 36 hours to get the Dragon Eyes in orbit and unleash a High Holy Fire Bombing on Gorkin. Once I let loose, Nordanl is going to begin a counterattack. That should hold Gorkin long enough for my remaining Blood and Iron divisions to arrive from Araman."

"I'll see what I can do to help," Althalon offers with a nod. "Perhaps we can come to an agreement after all," he adds with a grin. "Somehow I had a feeling something like this might happen someday."

Sehndem was silent a moment, calmly smoking his dollar sign cigarrette. "Do you remember, Konrad, when we were twelve, how we used to stand outside the fence and watch the Orcs do their drills?"

Konrad Althalon nods worldessly, reaching for his own cigarettes.

"You would often point to the Taskmasters and say, 'Someday I will be better then them.'" Sehndem chuckled. "Not to be outdone, I would often reply that I would be too. It would seem that our ambition has led us to conspire as we once did in our youth after all."

Konrad Althalon clasps his hands behind his head and offers a hearty chuckle. "Yes, it would seem. Only now, it's far more important for all involved. You can do what you want to get rid of the beasts swarming Ali'Staan: I have resources better delpoyed elsewhere, and it's a good opportunity for Xaosis to come around again."

Sehndem stubbed out his cigarrette "Indeed. Which is why the Board of Directors and I must insist on a free market economy
following the conclusion of the war."

Konrad Althalon laughs. "Are you kidding? It's the only way to go! Anything else is a goddamn joke."

Sehndem grinned. "Good. Because the new Empire needs to have more then just military might. That was Melkor's mistake"

Konrad Althalon snorts. "One of many. Let's hope we're not making one trying to kick his ass." He lifts a glass of scotch that Sehndem probably hadn't noticed before and drains some of its contents.

Sehndem grunted by way of reply. "Don't forget my group was the first of us to defy him. I'm glad to see the trend has spread, though years late." He took out another cigarrette. "Interesting how things have come full circle, no?"

Konrad Althalon nods. "We'll get you something on paper from us shortly; I'm sure we can find some way of making your long term plans to work. We will need to replace a massive amount of workers, after all."

"Xaosis has a good sized labor pool on Araman. We can bring them over." He stood up. "For now, we got to get moving on this
Ali'staan issue

A gust of wind blew past, kicking up a giant column of dust and ash that resembled a small tornado. Dust Devils were pretty common on the plains of Anfauglith, but this one had the somewhat unusual distinction of passing over a recently ambushed rebel patrol. Weapons and various other detatched instruments were flung into the air as the gust passed by. It wasn't until the wind kicked up a helmet--and the head inside--that Ragnar Haarek winced.

Moving much more quickly now, the veriag lowers his binoculars and makes a minor spectral adjustment. "Gotta see if any of them are alive," he mutters to the wind. As if in answer, the passing dust devil whistled past. Haarek's eyes follow it brifly as he raises the binoculars again and takes another look.

"All dead. Shit."

He folds the apparatus up and stuffs it into a small pouch at his waist. Dropping behind the large rock he had obscured himself behind, he activates his communicator and whispers into it hastily as he scurries south, keeping his head low. "Forager 12, reporting contact with 6 deceased friendlies 20 meters north of present coordinates. I've found that patrol team. They went down recently, according to the last contact I got from them. Looks like they died quick. Only tagged about sixteen orcs. Over."

Heaving himself over into a small ditch, he peers back over the land he'd just traveled, casing the area for any possible pursuers. A push of a button drops a small sensor beacon on the rock just in front of him. Inside his helmet, a HUD came into view detailing its findings. He saw an inauspicious flash out of the corner of his eye as the base answered his initial report.

"We read you loud and clear, Forager 12," came the reply. There was a disturbing amount of static on the line. Proceed to next waypoint and await extraction."

The next bit was difficult to hear, but he could catch the tail end of it as he skidded down into a gully and away: "--cating heavy enemy activity. Proceed with caution."

Haarek could guess the rest. "Roger that radio. Sensor is reading an incoming force--much larger than a patrol. I'm not sure if I've been spotted yet. Proceeding on foot to final waypoint. Over." He had already been cutting low and fast across the countryside, leaving the sensor suite and a set of heavy footprints behind him. The Dust devil was gone; replaced with something much worse: an attacking Orcish force. They had been unusually adept, in the preceding weeks, of evading detection, and in impossibly large numbers. By Haarek's guess, the force that wiped out that 6-man patrol had to have consisted of at least 4 or 5 times that amount in Orcs. That meant one of two things: either they were stepping up patrols in the area, or they were very shortly going to cover the plain in Orcs. Not good considering the proximity of this particular region to the gates of Daturias, the Rebel stronghold and the seat of Emperor Althalon's power.

The second possibility seemed to carry more weight, as the numbers Haarek had observed behind him were far too large to consist simply of a patrol. He didn't need to look back: the sensor he'd planted earlier showed him everything he needed to know as he cut across the plain with almost superhuman speed. In short order, a few loud pops and bursts of dust at his feet alerted him to the fact that he had been spotted.

"Shit."

***

Althalon sat, as usual, at his massive mahogany desk, rubbing his temples. His hands were bloody and he sat, as was his custom, in full battle armor. A few fresh dents had been made in it in the previous hour or so: Althalon had made a point of proving to his men that he cared enough about their goal to fight for it. It had doen wonders for the morale of his men; more than he could have ever hoped for. That factor remained one of the few variables acting in favor of his faction. Problems, it seemed, had been multiplying nearly by the day for Althalon and his New Imperials.

The palantir he held was of little use to him if he couldn't force his way into Morgoth's thoughts: a difficult enough prospect now made impossible by Alkanphel's theft of the Angband Stone. The Rebels hadn't found it yet, and by all accounts its theft was supposed to be a great boon to the rebels. However, it's abscence meant that it was impossible to encounter Morgoth or discern his plans via the device, as risky as that was. Althalon was confident in his capacity to shield his mind from the corruption of the Dark Lord (having rebelled against him, after all), and had hoped that he would be able to put his palantir to better use. So far, it had little effect in doing much to stop the Orcish tide. There was always the hope that more could be seen once the Angband Stone had been obtained, but apparently the only men who knew where it had been hidden fell under siege at Tim'uaar shortly after the heist and hadn't been heard from since.

Tim'uaar, despite being a rather large settlement, had been out of contact since the beginning of the war. As such, little was known of the town and it's fate: only that there was a garrison of about 1200 there before the Orcs came. Althalon didn't have the luxury of becoming very acquainted with the situation in Tim'uaar, as most of his time was consumed fighting off the counterattack that had begun to spill out of Utumno shortly after the Rebel victory at Angband. Daturias had only recently been made safe, and Althalon could only hope Xaosis could cleanse Ali'Staan and keep it that way.

Even though he was mostly concerned with defending Nova Rhun, Althalon's Marshals had taken up the reigns in the other four Kingdoms in order to keep the Old Imperial threat out. The Five Kingdoms enjoyed an almost unanimous turn of humanity from Morgoth's clutches: the entire empire was divided almost cleanly man-angainst-orc, with the notable exception of the Black Numenorians and a handful of Veriags. A few Old Imperial factions had sprung up amongst the human army, but they were quickly and brutally put down almost immediately following Alkanphel's death. None had been heard of for quite some time, which gave Althalon and his Marshals the unexpected luxury of having tenuous borders to guard. It had been feared beforehand that their energy would be sapped by Old Loyalists from within, but this didn't end up being the case. Small favors like this didn't go overlooked by the Rebel command.

Armies were marching North from Near and Far Harad every day. Men who did not own guns or have any military training busied themselves by repairing damaged infrastructure, wherever their labor could be safely applied behind the troop positions. It had been a great help, to have them there, but Althalon could only wonder as to Sudani's wisdom. Compromising Near Harad's readiness at this point could prove disastrous, and the Emperor seldom missed an opportunity to point this out to the man.

A giant reproduction of a man's face appeared in the air in front of the battle-dazed Emperor, causing him to jump slightly. A releived exhale greeted the face as he identified it, but the Comms Officer would have none of that. "Sir," his voice broke in suddenly. "One of our scouts has just radioed in, reporting a massive enemy army. Sixteen patrol teams have failed to report in, and nine of them have been confimed destroyed or otherwise compromised. Sensor information is difficult to come by as usual, but the Shadow's portent is just as apt now as it was Ages ago." His face grew grave. "Morgoth marches on Daturias. Elements of the army are just becoming visible as they emerge from their tunnels about 90 clicks north of the city."

Almost unconciously, Althalon answered with a rythmic litany of commands.

"Shit."

[OOC: C & P from another thread, for its relevance.]

For this day would come, hundreds upon thousands of scholars had predicted. Since the day of the Azagoth's punishment had passed, peace had reigned upon the Earth. Light, and all things that were good were all taken for granted. And the textbooks of warning were either ignored or written off as Superstition, or Religious Nonsense. Certainly, an eternity had almost passed until this day; but for the dead time never sleeps. Plans were drawn, lain out for critisizm, and thrown out for their worthlessness. And as they sat, enjoying their eternal existance on the dark side of this Luna, whispers were passed back and forth.

"The Day of the Damned was Coming."

Shadows crept back and forth, cackling as the dead grew in numbers. The army had been pre-planned to grow beyond millions, and once set loose they would spread among the masses. It was only unfortunate for the living, that Azagoth and his cronies were of such nature. The darkness had spread among their wretched souls. And hard-pressed into the existance of a slave-army, their will had been lost for sure. Perspective damned for eternity, they were but lost robotic beings. Unable to protest, the evil had consumed them until this day and beyond. Amulets of Light, Fear, and Darkness no longer existed. And what reigns had once been on them were now released.

"Such day would never come," said man.

How wrong he was, indeed.

For the thirst for blood only grew stronger, and the Realm of Tortured Souls would grow in number, one by one.

*~*~*~*~*

Shadow World, of Grace; Luna

Unseen by the hearts and eyes of men, such creatures of torment; the dead, had built their cities of darkness. Skyscrapers which cast over all, and the houses, more like barracks than anything. Sure, this was quite the militant society, with citizens being their eternal warriors. Nobody could visit, however. For the portal between light and shadow was closed for eternity. Only Azagoth and his closest, and most high could possibally exist into the world of Light, of Matter.

Pacing back and forth, Lord Azagoth growled at the hint of an intruder; "You disturb me for?"

"Azagoth, my Lord," trembled the wretched soul; Eternal Messenger. "I bring you news from the world of Light. Morgoth, is the one you seek to manifest within."

"Morgoth..." muttered Aza, his whispers echoing through-out the hall. "The name sounds familiar."

"Aye," nodded the messenger. "For he is the climate of Arda. He created it, he was the one who led such vicious battle against the world of Light."

Azagoth stood still now, leaning on his staff. Baring his teeth, he smiled. And the hencecoming news that the regime of Morgoth was now in despair; such a character seemed incompetant, unworthy of his attention.

Still, it was but a matter of fact--Morgoth would be his greatest ally if he ever survived the rebellion. Athalon would tremble, and it would be time to conquer. To be victorious.

"Ready the cronies," growled Azagoth, making haste for his plan of attack.

Soon, they would infiltrate all levels of Arda; more importantly, Melkor Unchained. For once the Red Moon had risen, the world of Light could only despair. Shadows were eternal, and they were coming. And Hades our Lord, was furious.

OOC:

Alright guys, I'm going to be making some major changes to this story since Nathi and I got into a deceptively enormous fight and I would tend to doubt we'll ever speak again, much less on anything remotely resembling 'friendly' terms. I'm kind of surprised it blew up like it did, but hey.

I'm sorry it's taken so long to get this off the ground this time 'round, but until recently I had been waiting on Nathi to arrange her things so as to more smoothly relate the numbers and logistics of her involvement, etc. Then we got into that fight and all of it turned pretty much to shit; I doubt she wants to have anything to do with the story anymore. Truth be told, this kind of fucks things up but I'll be god damned if I'm going to let this end my RP career, given the ridiculousness of everything that's gone on between us. [i]So what I will probably end up doing is I'll hit the proverbial "Fast Forward" button and post something shortly that gives the reader a breif description of what happens between now [IC timeline-wise] and when the story becomes 'open.' I wasn't planning on throwing open the gates so soon, but it looks like that's going to have to be the case. Expect another IC post shortly, as I grapple with its wording and how exactly to structure it.

D’ron squeezed the bridge of his nose as he flipped through some pages of the latest hardcopy report and its accompanying intelligence proposal. Admittedly, there was not supposed to be a hard copy at all, but he was the Imperial President, and he preferred to be able to read something off of paper while he sat in his big lounge chair in the residence.

The only person he shared this area with was Lesley, after all, and even if she did read something that had a big red CONFIDENTIAL plastered all over the front, she would not talk. By his insistence, her security clearance was just as high as his own, so that when he needed to, he could talk things over with her.

But there was no real need to talk things over with her. He knew what he had to do. D’ron reached over and toggled a control, and smiled as a moment later, Cortana appeared. “You are go for proposed intelligence operation Mike-Cain-Whiskey-Zero-Nine. Come by and pick up what you need from me in the morning.”

He pulled out a pen, and a blank sheet of paper, and wondered how to write a note to the leader of a rebellion. There would be no electronic record of this at all, he realized, as he ran his security clean up program on the files still in the database. Officially deniable.

* * * * *

It was a lengthy process, and it took nearly four days to complete it. It started with an order to the Anglachel’s electronic intelligence to manufacture another stealth delivery satellite, along with ten regular observation satellites, to continue replacing those lost in the recent activity over the Atheist Reality. Quite a number of the satellites had been destroyed in the Divine Dragon’s self-destruction, and replacing them as the two operational stations had down time was a matter of some concern, but not overly much.

It took the hardcopy, paper message a day to be properly prepared in the Intelligence Division headquarters before being shipped out in the possession of a single EI from that division, hand delivering it in its special case to the stealth satellite that would drop it.

Then that satellite, along with the ten real observation satellites, was kicked out at the proper point in the Anglachel’s orbital path, sending them sliding into space in a low, swift orbit around Earth.

It was two days later that the stealth satellite dropped its delivery capsule, which was also stealthed until it hit the atmosphere, which took nearly ten hours after drop, due to its slowly decaying orbit. A brief flare of energy broke that pattern, and shot it towards the ground at high speed, the impact point projected in the area determined by intelligence from satellite observation and previous observation of the way the Five Kingdoms operated as most likely to contain the rebellion’s headquarters.

A mile above the surface, a drogue ‘chute blew, snapping the rate of descent, as pieces began to flake off and rain down, more than likely to burn up completely before hitting the ground, though air resistance and their steadily decreasing size would make them no threat if they did.

Half a mile up, another drogue blew, slowing the now tiny capsule still further. Another parachute came on still further down, and yet another just before it hit. Hopefully, no one had shot at it, too small to be a threat.

A black box sat there, on the ground, covered in a dark green, nearly black, drape of silken parachute fabric. It was not complicated, the circuits inside it made with generic parts purchased from the world market through at least seven separate companies in more than one country.

On the cover of the box was emblazoned a question, in white, “Who are you?” It would only open for a select set of names, and any attempt to force it would destroy the contents within.

The names were those of the Five Kingdoms Marshals and Warlords, along with Alkanphel, who were determined to be the most likely to be heading the rebellion.

The message inside was handwritten, in flowing script, black ink on yellow tinged white paper.

Once, in a place of raptors and a lady becrowned, I approached two of your fellows, one who wore a Dashing Hat, the other who wrote with a dead luSh inK. I bore a message of olives to them, and a twig they took with them in return. A monster whose brow once bore light, with whom I would rather not treat, stands before us all, a shadow bestride us. Ringil’s work unfinished, let us complete. I shall assist if you desire it.

A soldier of peace.

Below that appeared a series of mathematical equations relating how to establish contact by tightbeam laser transmission directed upwards from the approximate point of impact.

For the most part, it hadnt been so much of an affair that Indigo and his "henchmen" had sought to intervene for the matter that they felt they should, but rather it was a matter of which was suitable to the future from today. "A Series of Economic Affairs", as one would have called them that; it had been estimated by an overwhelming factor of three-hundred and twenty, that the benefit of supporting any form of rebellious activity within the realm of Morgoth would be exactly that--beneficial. For under the system of he who called himself "Dark Lord" -- (And those who followed in his name), such had been a time of imense pressure upon friends and allies of the Union.

It was dangerous, and it was a simple matter of preventing the undesirable to rise up for tommorrow. Arda had become a thing of the past... but with brewing hatred and desire, who would know what character of form it could take. Such was outside of the realms of knowledge and understanding, and such was considered 'unfortunate' enough to actually act upon.

And so it was a mission of investigation if anything, where Indigo had ordered its flight. Similar to nanobots, they were tiny non-organic machines. Designed specificially to take data, record it, and transmit it via the tightest frequencies possible. It was this way that they remained for the most part undetected. And whilst at the mercy of wind, rain, hail, or shine; they were damn effective. For soon they would learn of whom to lable enemy, of whom to lable friend. And then when the time would be sought, contact and arrange the deal.

Ah, the life of a businessman. (Or the life of a businessman in power at the very least.) Dangerous was but one man's game; the rules were unto his own.