The New King
Caspen’s footsteps echoed ominously as he walked through the dungeon. They led him to the cell at the far end of the hall.
“Talen,” he growled, unlocking the prison irons. The aquatic elf was striking, his long black hair swaying softly in the still, murky water. “I need a word with you.”
Sorrow filled Talen’s silver eyes. He was sitting on a cot in the corner of the damp, cold stone room. His expression was listless, his eyes depressed, but they caught Caspen’s calculated emerald gaze.
Without a word, Talen rose. With a defeated composure, he followed Caspen out of the dungeon to the throne room.
An idle, wicked expression played at the corners of Caspen’s mouth as he led Talen to the elaborate throne at the center of the room.
“Sit.” Caspen’s tone left no room for discussion.
Talen’s expression was overcome with shock and confusion, but he had no desire to question the captain of the most powerful force he had ever witnessed. He sat on the throne. A strange sensation overcame him, his lack of understanding igniting a fire in his eyes.
Caspen chuckled. “Talen, I must ask you. Why did you order the attack of the Fae against Raelith?”
A dark cloud settled in Talen’s eyes. “I… I was told by King Lariden that if I did not, he would execute my children.”
Caspen’s eyes filled with icy hatred. “So you mean to tell me that you did not order the attack out of ill will toward my admiral?”
Shock once more filled Talen’s silver orbs. “Hell no! I fucking LOVE Raziel. He has saved my ass in countless battles. I would die for that man! My steel is owned by him! Unfortunately, around here you have to go along to get along.” Tears brimmed in his eyes.
Caspen’s expression softened as he felt the genuine emotion in Talen’s sobs.
“I believe you’re telling me the truth. I also found your children locked in the cells when I took over. I just wanted to see if you would tell me the truth.”
Talen’s wife and three children entered the throne room. Talen’s eyes lit up as he rushed to them, throwing his arms around his wife. Sobs racked his body as he clutched her in his arms. His children, ages six, ten, and eighteen, all huddled in and hugged their father.
She kissed him and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Talen, we are safe.”
He pulled back and turned to Caspen. He bowed before the dark knight, his head lowered in reverence. “I owe you my life.”
Caspen smiled softly. “I know. Now rise, King Talen.”
Talen stood and stared into Caspen’s eyes, searching for any hint of dishonesty. “I do not understand.”
Caspen’s mischievous grin curled the edges of his lips. “I am appointing you the new king. My army will assist you in establishing your new rule, and then we will withdraw.”
Talen’s eyes hardened with the responsibility of a kingdom. He walked back over to the throne and sat down. His new power rippled through his spine. “I will change how things are run around here, Caspen.”
“I expect you to. I do not want to see a single hungry person, am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
His wife and children walked over to the throne and smiled softly. His wife spoke. “We will help you fix our broken kingdom.”
His children nodded in agreement.
Caspen smirked. “Good. Now I have other matters that demand my attention. My army will follow your direction to help you establish your new rule. If you come across any loyal to Lariden, they will be taken to the prisons.”
Caspen, a man on a mission. He stood in a large empty field. King Lariden stood before him. Three thousand of his loyal subjects lined up behind him.
Caspen chuckled with malace. “Lariden. You have earned your freedom. I verifeid your intel with Renaldo. What you told me was the truth.”
Lariden looked around. “There is nothing here just fucking grass!”
Caspen’s chuckle turned bitter cold, his words laced with complete venom. “Ask Evalendor to help you build a grass hut. Your nobles are no longer noble. Your guards have nothing left to guard. You are a king of grass!” His genue laughter filled the air. He bent over and took a deep breath. Tears in his eyes his laughter died.
“This is your new place to live. Have fun Lariden.” Caspen snapped his fingers and disapeared.
“Evalendor! How have we been reduced to this!”
Evalendor scoweled. “This is a discace! They can’t do this to us! We are of Noble Bloodlines!”
Lariden sighed. “Well…” He scans the horizon. The nearest tree line apears to be almost a days ride. There is LITERALLY NOTHING HERE!”
In defeat they all set off in a random direction looking for anything they could use to build a new kingdom.
Lord Erikson was riding his horse through his back fields. He was enjoying the scene of the vast rolling hills until something strange came into his view.
It looked like, almost an army of the strangest looking elves hea had ever seen trudging misirbly marching through the grassy hillside.
His curiosity got the better of him he spured his horse. The lords black stallion’s powerful strides crossed the grassy knoll with ease.
He came to a sliding stop, eye to eye with an elf of sorts. Erikson dismounted.
“What are you, and why are you in my lands?” Erikson’s voice was cold, harsh as a winter storm, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Lariden, unfazed, met the man’s steely gaze with the resignation of a king who had already lost everything. “I am King Lariden. These are my loyal subjects.”
Erikson snorted, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “King? Where is your kingdom, my ‘King’?”
Lariden’s face darkened, his gaze hardening with the weight of unspoken regrets. “I’ve made mistakes—grave mistakes. But I’m offering something valuable in exchange for food and shelter.”
Erikson’s interest piqued, his posture stiffening. “What kind of ‘valuable’ information?”
With a deep breath, the fallen monarch spoke through clenched teeth, his voice thick. “Do you know Xanther? Renaldo? Or anything about the Elder Dragons?” Lariden crossed his arms, a quiet challenge in his eyes, as if daring the man to dismiss him.
The mention of those names seemed to strike something within Erikson. His sharp features darkened, a flicker of recognition passing through his eyes. “You have my attention,” he murmured, his tone shifting from contempt to something far more cautious.
Without another word, Erikson pulled a strange, flat device from his belt. It was sleek and glowed faintly, casting an eerie light against the backdrop of the grassy land. With swift, practiced movements, he punched in a series of numbers and pressed the device to his ear.
“I need military transport,” Erikson spoke with authority, his voice steady but with a strange edge. “Enough to transfer…”
He glanced at Lariden, his eyes momentarily calculating.
“How many of you are here?” Erikson asked, his expression unreadable.
“Three thousand,” Lariden answered, his voice betraying his weariness.
Erikson’s fingers moved with purpose, the device still pressed to his ear. “Three thousand refugees… some kind of elf… Yes, the helicopters will work. They look hungry, and they’ll need food.”
A voice crackled through the device, sharp and urgent. “T minus ten minutes. ETA twenty minutes, my Lord.”
Erikson snapped the device shut, the glow fading as he looked back at Lariden, his expression unreadable. “Where do you come from, exactly?”
“The Fae Wild,” Lariden growled, his voice tinged with a bitter edge.
Erikson let out a dry chuckle. “The Fae Wild? How the hell did you manage to transport three thousand refugees from there to the material plane? That’s… impressive, if nothing else.”
Lariden’s eyes softened for a moment, the weight of his words heavy. He let the distain glimmer in his expression. “We where brought here because we are enemies of the Army of Ages. This is our penence and price of some well, fatal errors in our calcuation of judgement.”
Erikson raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You get more and more interesting with every word that leaves your mouth.” His tone was both bemused and intrigued, as if Lariden were a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.
Before Lariden could respond, a deafening sound filled the air—an intense, high-pitched buzzing that seemed to vibrate the very atmosphere.
The sky overhead darkened as several massive, metallic machines appeared, their rotor blades slicing through the air with relentless force.
The wind howled, as if enraged by their arrival, whipping through the hills with the ferocity of a banshee. As the machines descended, their immense bulk cast ominous shadows over the land.
The moment they landed, the ground seemed to shake, and Erikson’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Hundreds of armed men jumped from the machines, their dark uniforms stood out as a stark contrast to the grassy landscape. Strange, unfamiliar weapons—some hanging from their necks, others strapped to their sides—glinted menacingly in the light.
Erikson stood tall, surveying the scene with a mix of command and quiet amusement. One of the soldiers approached him, his eyes scanning Lariden with a look of keen curiosity.
“What have you found, my Lord?” the soldier asked, his voice rough, almost eager.
Erikson glanced at Lariden, his smirk unwavering. “A king,” he said simply, his voice carrying an air of dry humor. “Or what’s left of one.”
Orian, Erikson’s trusted lieutenant, stepped forward. His bright eyes swept over the strange, wide-eyed elves with undisguised intrigue, taking in their ragged appearance and the palpable tension in the air.
“Orian,” Erikson called, his tone sharp, yet with a certain familiarity. “Get everyone loaded up. And did you inform Vatriness that she needs to start preparing food?”
“I did, my Lord,” Orian replied, tapping a strange iron device that hung around his neck, an odd, arcane weapon that hummed with faint energy. “She’s summoned the witches. They’ll have something ready by the time we return.”
Erikson nodded in approval. “Good. We’ll need it.” He glanced over at the gathered elves, still uncertain and confused by the rapid developments. “Let’s get them settled and on the move.”
With a sharp gesture, Orian raised his arm high, making a circular motion in the air. “Round ‘em up!” he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos with ease.
The soldiers moved quickly, herding the bewildered elves into the strange, hovering machines with military precision.
They didn’t ask questions—just prodded and pushed, moving them as if they were cattle to be transported. Lariden watched the scene, his heart sinking with a mixture of relief and dread. There was something about the cold, calculated efficiency of the operation that made him feel even more like a prisoner than a king.
Erikson turned to Lariden, his voice steady but commanding. “You can come with me.”
Before Lariden could protest, Erikson mounted his horse with ease and, without a second thought, reached down, pulling Lariden up behind him. The suddenness of it all left the defeated king little time to react.
Without warning, Erikson spurred the horse forward, and they tore across the landscape, moving at a speed that took Lariden completely off guard.
The horse’s powerful muscles rippled beneath them, its hooves pounding the earth with terrifying force.
Lariden clutched onto Erikson’s waist with all his strength, feeling as though he might be thrown from the saddle at any moment.
“Fuck!” Lariden gasped, his grip tightening as the wind howled in his ears. His body was jolted with each rapid movement, the landscape blurring around him in a dizzying whirl of color and motion.
He slammed his eyes shut, not daring to look, the force of the speed and the strange physics of this world, this strange dimension, overwhelmed his senses.
His stomach churned as if it couldn’t keep up with the world around him. Never in his life had he moved so fast—never had his body felt so out of control.
The sensation of flight, the sickening speed, the unfamiliar laws of physics… everything felt wrong. Lariden had never been more aware of the fragility of his own existence, as if he were caught between two worlds, neither of which he truly belonged to.
Just as his stomach threatened to betray him, the horse came to a sudden, jarring halt. Lariden opened one eye cautiously.
The world, mercifully, had stopped spinning. He could feel the ground beneath him again, the motion finally subsiding.
Lord Erikson dismounted smoothly, offering a hand to Lariden. “We’re here,” he said, his voice oddly reassuring in the midst of all the chaos.
Lariden took the offered hand, still reeling from the sensation of the ride. As he stepped off the horse, his legs wobbled beneath him, his stomach still in turmoil.
Without warning, he bent over, his body rejecting the dizzying speed. He began to heave, the world spinning around him in nauseating waves.
He gasped for breath, trying to steady himself, but it took a few moments before the world around him stopped its relentless spinning. When he finally stood up, he blinked, trying to orient himself.
They were no longer in the grassy hills. Instead, Lariden found himself standing in the heart of a quaint, cobblestone village. The streets stretched out before him, winding through neat rows of houses.
Their chimneys puffing little curls of smoke into the sky. The buildings were old but sturdy, with ivy climbing up their walls and windows framed with warm, golden light.
There was a strange charm to the place, a quiet serenity that contrasted sharply with the madness of the journey.
It was a peaceful place, but for Lariden, it felt foreign—unnervingly so. He hadn’t expected to land in a place like this.
It seemed too… calm, too ordered. The reality of what he’d just experienced sank in with a harsh, crushing weight.
“I thought… I thought this was a warlord’s camp,” Lariden muttered under his breath, still trying to steady his mind.
“It’s a village,” Erikson replied, his tone casual. He gestured to the surroundings, his smirk never fading. “You’re going to be here for a while, King Lariden. Best get used to it.”
Lariden looked around again, taking in the cobblestone roads that stretched out before him, feeling the tension in his chest rise. He wasn’t sure where he was or what was coming next—but he knew one thing for certain: the world had just shifted beneath his feet, and there was no going back.
“My mages built this place with magic for your people.” Erikson chuckled at the expressions on the elf’s face. “Eat, get settled, and sort out the housing. Tomorrow we will speak more of this ‘intel’ you wish to share.”