Before The Fall Of Magic.
The palace of the Troll peoples was a massive towering structure, beautiful and green the leaves that made up its wallpapering never shed during winter. Cornered by three ancient oaks the triangular palace was built into and around them as its cornerstones. Masterfully carved logs made up the walls and floor while still living trees lined the corner of every room. Wooden griffins, chimeras, dragons, and hydras still grew out of living wood. The sculptures growing larger and more ornate instead of being reclaimed by wild nature; as artistry-magic had changed their forms permanently.
Bartholomew climbed the massive wooden steps towards the towering leafy gate, the noon sun beating down on him. His powerful green muscled legs skipping sequences of steps. Throwing open the palace door with a thunderous crash that almost made the door fall off the hinges he walked into the main foyer.
“Mother, the Solar General’s army has changed course! They’re on a direct line to Firsthaven!” Bart screamed into the foyer.
The Palace of the Elders, once a place for the ruling elite of the Troll kingdoms to meet and discuss politics. Now, no one is left to visit, no politics left to discuss except unconditional surrender or a losing fight against annihilation. This sacred place of compromise and democracy was empty, save for the more than a hundred mages working tirelessly to perfect their escape.
“Yes yes, it is just as we predicted,” Zippy said, not looking up from his current project, a small clockwork orb.
“But Mother! They will be upon us in a matter of days, maybe even less!” Bart creamed at his emotionless progenitor.
“Yes, I know, they may even be here far faster than that. Our plan is nearing completion however, soon we will have an escape from this blasted time. I can only hope that whatever conflict we find ourselves in, that we are not trading a tyrant for a demon.” Zippy said solemnly, finishing the current work on the Orb and looking at his son in the eye.
Bart calmed down some, meeting his mother's steady gaze, “We can only hope.”
Zippy, conjuring his usual flying purple cloud floated up to his son’s face, gently kissing his forehead. “We would have never gotten this far without your lobbying at the councils, without you pushing so hard for all of the grand-mages to be brought together for this task.”
Bart looked away from his mother, “But what good am I know? The Kings, Queens, Scions, Chiefs, Matriarchs, all of them are gone. There is no more council; now I just sit and wait, useless to my people and my father.” The Troll gripped his fists tightly in frustration, the emotional toll threatening to overflow before he beat it back down with pure determination.
“You were a fine Minister of the People, you may very well be again if everything goes according to my plan.” Zippy said with a smile, lightly touching his son’s shoulder.
A loud thunderous noise reverberated through the living castle, originating from far outside.
“What? The army shouldn’t be here for half a day at the least.” Bart’s normally green complexion now a ghostly white.
The two of them quickly rush out of the foyer and onto the stairs leading out into the city. A pillar of smoke rose up in the far distance, in the exact spot of their forward inspection line into the city.
“It seems we need to speed up. Get every mage in the city to me at once! If we do not get this portal open we may very well wind up exactly like Pompei.” Zippy said, shooting back into the foyer and grabbing the small clockwork sphere he had been working on.
Bart stared at the pillar, having heard tale of the Solar General’s might and mercilessness. The checkpoint had only been an hour’s jog from the city walls. If the general marched at a steady pace his entire army would be knocking on the gate within the hour… However, that was not how the general worked, as everyone who had heard tales about him knew.
Bart watched as several small lights broke off of the main force, riding over the plains with unnatural speed. In the waning light of dusk, it was easy to make out two distinct lines of torch-bearing cavalry making their way towards the city.
The sound of a conch-horn blew across the waking city of Firsthaven. Bart unstrapped his own, beginning the signaling blow, mentally slapping himself for his shocked inaction mere moments before. After his own many more took up the call, announcing to the entire town that the enemy is on the horizon.
After almost nothing but conch-bellowing could be heard within the city walls as Bart ran towards the barracks. This was his city, the people had picked HIM to lead them, and he would be there to defend them!
The barracks were in chaos, Troll and newcomer alike all trying to armor up to defend their home. Finally, reaching the quartermaster.
“Is it ready?” Bart asked, catching his breath.
“Back halls, third door on your left. I’ll send someone to help you get it on.” The elderly Gnome woman said with a smile.
Bart calmly walked toward the back, not wanting the already panicking defenders to panic even more upon seeing their leader running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
The armor was pristine. Aquamarine jewels inset into the deeply green and black metal. Damascus Steel and Copper gave it a beautiful golden brown, black, and partially green look where the magic had aged the metal. Fully complete Orichalium was fully green and a thing of beauty, also very very rare, so Bart had to make do with a hastily made substitute
Soon, a young human man in his late teens came into the room to help Bart get fully equipped. A plate chest-piece and chain armor with plates for the rest of his body, his trusty spear at the ready, its tip jade green; made from true orichalium.
Fully equipped, the former Minister ran out of the barracks, searching for his mother in the night air. Deciding that it was best to look in the most obvious place he quickly ran back up the stairs to the Palace of Elders where he had seen his father mere minutes before.
“Mother! Mother! I’m ready and most of the trained fighters are as well. Only the militia were still arming themselves when I left!” Bart called into the open foyer.
Zippy, at the head of a large group of mages quickly rushed through the bodies to meet his son. “Bart my boy!” The small gnome wiped a tear from his eye, “If only your father and uncle could see you. They would both be so proud.”
“Thanks Mom, now, tell me what you need,” Bart said, saluting his mother.
“Alright, I have most of the castaway mages gathered already. I need you to pull together to guard and block the entrance. When we finally get the portal open we’ll let everyone through, but until then it is vital that you not let anyone in that is not donating their mana.” Zippy said, his face becoming stern.
“What happens if they slip past?” Bart asked, curiosity coming over him.
“Well, if someone too weak slips in, it might siphon away all of their life, so definitely no humans. I know it’s a lot to ask but you need to both protect them and this palace, but you cannot let them in until the portal is open.” Zippy said, a cold tone in his voice as he looked over his son’s shoulder, seeing the Solar Army already launching fiery mounds of destruction at the magical walls.
Bart, noticing his mother’s reaction turns, seeing the great opaque green barrier spring to life above the city, weathering the magical blows. Both of them knew that after the dome came down, that it would be things far worse than fire raining from the sky coming to meet the peaceful inhabitants of the city.
The Troll grips his father’s spear tightly. “I’ll save as many as I can.”
Zippy grips his only son’s shoulder, “That’s what we’ve been working toward this great long time.”
As Bart runs back out the front door of the palace Zippy’s focus returns to the magi. “As I was saying, you are all the brightest and most talented mages of your kingdoms. I say that not as a mockery, I know you all come in singed rags. I say it because you are alive! Right here, right now, you are alive and we will be creating the single greatest magical anomaly to ever grace our dimension!”
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“It is Imperative you stay in position. Draw from your own reserve of mana, draw until you feel it is completely depleted. And then, right before you lose consciousness… Draw on the Palace of the Elders.” Zippy paused as a hushed murmuring overtook the crowd.
A sly Drow woman steps up, “This place is sacred, there is no way the Trolls and the council will allow us to drain it!”
Zippy points outside, toward the entrance and the best possible view of the city barrier coming under siege. “There will not be a council, or a palace once the Solar General is done with it, done with us! Now, if we do not start RIGHT NOW then all will be lost, and the lives of our defenders will have been extinguished for naught!”
A roaring cheer of approval erupted from one half of the crowd as the more wary mages stepped back. Zippy turned his back on the crowd, content to let those overtaken with fear run to their doom; there was no time to shepherd them back.
Funneling his mana into the clockwork sphere, the item began to levitate. Soon, the other mages directed their own internal energies into the artificial spell form that had taken so much time and effort to create. A purple thread of mana connected the Gnome to his creation as it drew mana from him at an even greater rate.
Many in the crowd fell to one knee immediately, forced to kneel as the mana drain was far greater than they had expected. Soon even Zippy was forced to kneel before the sacred object of his own making. The magi behind Zippy began crying, screaming, laughing, and combinations above as the sphere somehow drew out the emotions from the worshipers as well as their mana.
It did not take long for Zippy, soon followed by every other mage in the area to pull from the mighty ancient palace. Legends said that the ancient wooden structure had all the magic of thirteen enchanted forests and that was before people began weaving the trees together. The magic of a citywide forest converged in that tiny area, filling the room with gentle orange light as motes of mana drifted down from the ceiling, as-if pollen.
***
Outside, Bart began to immediately have problems. Before the other guards could assemble, many of the citizens had gathered, already knowing their salvation was held inside of the palace.
“Let me in! I know you have a way out of here, all of you nobles and politicians want to do is save yourselves!” A young man yelled from the front of the crowd as Bart did his best to keep all of them from entering the palace.
“I can’t let you in yet! They’re activating the spell!” Bart tried to explain but got interrupted before he could finish.
“DID YOU HEAR THAT EVERYONE?! THEY’RE ACTIVATING THE SPELL AND LEAVING US ALL TO DIE!” The same human boy from earlier spoke, barely nineteen.
The crowd of people slammed against Bart as his back slipped inside the doorway to the palace. Almost immediately he felt like he was going to collapse, using all of his energy to fall forward into the crowd instead of backwards, where the most use he would be to his people would be as a battery.
Bart fell forward, onto his knees as the young man and six others rushed inside, immediately falling to their knees as they walked through the entrance. Their faces slowly becoming paler and more wrinkled with age like those who never accepted rebirth, but far faster.
The seven people all fell over on their sides. Five of them, however, all human, aged into dust before everyone’s eyes. Bart looked over his shoulder just at the last second to catch their forms be blown away by the magical winds swirling inside of the palace.
“SEE!? Now I need all of you to stand behind the royal guard but NONE and I mean NO ONE go In that has not completed rebirth. Anyone else may go inside the palace with the understanding that all of their mana will be drained away to fuel our escape.”
The crowd slowly calmed down, understanding the dire situation. More and more of the royal guard soon began collecting around Bart. The guard did not have a uniform per-say, merely using the armor that had been passed down for generations. Several Trolls showing up in full plate orichallium armor, greener than the brightest forest. Others showed up in enchanted hides or leathers, non-Troll volunteers without armor had been gifted Damascus chain mail, but all wielded the same orichallium spears.
“Alright, everyone. As we face annihilation, let history say…” Just as Bart was about to enter his speech to heighten the morale of his troops; a fireball struck the barrier protecting Firsthaven and the entire city’s barrier blinked for just a second before failing completely.
The conch-alarm which had taken over everyone’s senses became drowned out by the countless screams all over the city from the rest of the fiery artillery landing on buildings, houses, shops, or slamming into roads filled with fleeing people. Soon the only thing you could smell was cooking and burnt meat and the only sound in the air was screaming.
“Alright, spears up. Cavalry will be coming first and we need to defend everyone on the steps to the palace. Do not let a single High-Elf through!” Bart called to his motley regiment.
Screaming people, young, old, elderly, all of them ran past and through the defensive line holding their spears at the ready at the bottom of the three-story staircase. Soon, the people arriving were more hobbling than running, holding onto their bleeding or singed arms, legs torsos, too many injuries to realistically take stock of.
Not long after the injured began funneling into the defensive circle, the first mounted High-Elf unit came into view. The beautiful man had long flowing golden hair, his form thin and lithe, his armor pristine and glistening silver. His long delicate fingers gracefully gripped a sword covered in crimson as his turquoise eyes fell coldly upon the group in front of the palace.
“How are they doing this so fast?” Bart grit his teeth, gripping his spear harder. “HOLD THE LINE!”
Even militia forces responded in unison with the royal guard, “HA!” They each raised their various shields, aiming their spears forward and creating a defensive phalanx at the bottom of the stairs. The people behind them cowered back, many of the reborn rushing inside the palace at their first look at the raider.
The High-Elf did not move, instead just watching the group as they readied themselves for the onslaught of their lives. For an entire minute, then two, then four, the high elf only looked at them, grinning but otherwise unmoving, then it turned into a smile.
As the High-Elf broke out in laughter atop his horse a fireball came falling out of the sky, scoring a direct hit on the far left wing of the phalanx, crushing six soldiers and burning several others who jumped out of the way, breaking rank. The burning metal flowing slowly away from the impact zone as it loses its magical cohesion.
The High-Elf raised his bloody sword, glistening beautifully in the dawn light. letting out a loud and cruelly beautiful voice, “ONWARD TO PURITY!”
Twelve other mounted High-Elves galloped out from behind buildings, each of them raising their red swords high, caked with blood and viscera.
The defenders regrouped as quickly as they could, their left flank in tatters but the molten metal thankfully sealing off the entrance, creating an even smaller bottleneck to work in their favor. Silently thanking the warriors who lost their lives; Bart grips his own spear, funneling mana into the enchantments that had been passed down on his father’s spear for generations.
A ghastly green light of the eldritch came to life around the tip of Bart’s spear as the Troll grinned, letting out a guttural, bestial roar. “COME AND GET ME, YOU UGLY MIRAGE!”
The defenders held the line, slamming their spears into the mounts and the soldiers, their orichallium spear tips making short work of the steeds as they impaled rider and horse alike. The first High-Elf still in the back, having not moved as all twelve of the horses and riders met a grisly end at the orichallium fangs of the phalanx.
Bart, unmoving, pointing his glowing spear at the first High-Elf. “Not gonna join your friends? Too high-and-mighty for that?” The Troll spit, having practiced all of his life at this disgusting habit; the shot sailed forty feet through the air, arcing downward and hitting the elf directly in the middle of the face.
Wiping his face and letting out his own guttural scream of hatred, the High-Elf pulled out a whistle from behind his armor, blowing into it hard.
The defenders were confused when no sound came out of the whistle but the ground soon began rumbling under their feat. “What? What’s going on?”
Bart’s face went pale again as a thought came into his mind and he could not escape it no matter what. Doing the only thing his mind let him, he let the word escape through his mouth, “Pompei.”
The ground erupted, a hill began forming on the far left of the phalanx, a good distance away from the entire group, however, it just kept growing. Soon the hill was over two stories tall in less than a minute as one of the militia-women broke off of the group and rushed the High-Elf with her spear.
As the Fomorian woman ran, yelling loudly she threw her spear at the High-Elf who was still distracted by blowing into the item. The elf caught the spear in the upper chest, being catapulted off of his horse and slammed into the building wall behind him, impaled on the oaken shaft of the spear.
The hill stopped growing, making all of the defenders let out a breath they did not know they were holding. A cheer ran through the surviving fifty-four members of the royal guard and militia forces.
A slow, steady clap began building, however, no one noticed that the clapping was not coming from them, no one, except for Bart. Looking up and back at the now burning city Bart watched as the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes upon stepped forward from the immolating city.
His hair was shoulder-length, wavy, and more golden than the ripest wheat harvest. His hands were thin but not small, with long dexterous fingers. His face looked like it had been sculpted by a master artist as his magnum opus. His body was well-toned and hidden behind a beautiful aquamarine armor with artistic swirls and flourishes over every inch, looking like it deserved to be in a gallery rather than on a battlefield.
“Well done, you beat my scouts. You know, not everyone can do that. I think a single one of my scout teams was able to wipe out the entire Gnome civilization.” The beautiful man spoke.
Bart gripped his spear harder, the tip glowing an even brighter green. Almost spitting the name, “Solar General, and to what does my beautiful city owe the pleasure of your visit?”