The city's streets thrummed with activity beneath a relentless sun, as carriages and weary refugees shuffled toward the grandeur of the capital's towering walls. Standing thirty feet tall, these gates served as the singular passage into the heart of the kingdom, bustling with the continuous flow of people—a stark testament to the chaos wrought by the ongoing war in the northern territories.
The heat was oppressive, with vapours dancing visibly in the thick air, adding a layer of misery for those queued in wait. Some stood for mere hours, while others, overtaken by despair, remained for days, their desperation to find refuge within the city's fortified embrace growing more palpable by the moment.
"Single file!" a guard's voice thundered, cutting through the muggy air as he motioned the exhausted travellers forward, their faces etched with anxiety as they inched closer to the safety of the Elijahian stronghold. The procedure was tedious, the line jerking to a stop now and again as each person faced the scrutinous gaze of the vigilant gate guards.
This unending cycle drained the spirits of the gatekeepers, their expressions clouded with irritation under the scorching sun. Sweat streamed down their foreheads, a clear sign of the sweltering conditions that bore down on them. Yet, despite the intense discomfort, they stood resolute, dedicating endless hours to the protection of the city gates.
"My shift's just about up," grumbled one guard, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'm off to grab some water, beat back some of this damn heat."
His fellow nodded gratefully. "Grab some buckwheat too, if you can," he said with a hopeful grin. "Feels like forever since I ate."
As one guard stayed vigilant until his relief arrived, the travellers continued to pass through smoothly. The gatekeepers conducted their inspections with practiced efficiency, keeping the flow steady with little cause for concern.
However, even in the monotony, the guard couldn’t help but be drawn to the whispers circulating around the capital. Rumours of a mysterious figure clad in strange garb and mentions of an enigmatic entity known as the "United States" stirred the air with excitement. It appeared the nobility might have secured potential allies from this unknown land, offering a glimmer of hope against the dark tide of war from the north.
Curiosity piqued, and the guard mulled over these tales of unexpected allies emerging from the fringes. A surge of anticipation washed over him as he awaited the chance to learn more about these intriguing newcomers.
The gate guards maintained their diligent pace until the entrance of large wagons, their impressive size drawing immediate attention. An elf stepped forward from one of these vehicles, presenting documents to the guards before being allowed passage through the formidable gates.
The relative calm was abruptly broken by a loud, foreboding sound emanating from beyond the queue. The guards ceased their inspections, their focus snapped to the source of the noise. Among the startled refugees, a figure was seen sprinting toward the gate with urgent speed.
As the chaos unfolded, some braced for an attack, their senses sharpening in anticipation of danger. One guard, quick to react, took initiative, ready to confront the situation. His colleague, just returning with water and buckwheat, stopped dead in his tracks, bewildered by the scene. "What's happening?!" he cried out, his face etched with confusion and alarm.
Though words were spare, the first guard swiftly grabbed his partner, ushering them both toward the commotion at the front gate. Onlookers, gripped by uncertainty and fear, watched intently. The figure racing towards them, initially a blur of motion, gradually became clearer—revealing not a threat, but another elf. This unexpected sight left many shocked and puzzled, but also slightly relieved as the true nature of the visitor became apparent.
The image of the man charging down the dusty path remained vivid in the minds of the guards, their spears still aimed in his direction. "SURRENDER!" one shouted, his voice cutting through the clamour.
Yet, the man continued his desperate sprint, his pleas muffled by the surrounding tumult. It was only when he reached the menacing tips of the spears that he halted, doubled over, hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. The guards held their ground, spears poised, as one cautiously broke the silence.
"What's the rush?" he asked, his tone polite yet firm. The man, still panting heavily, simply raised a finger, signalling for a moment to gather himself before he could speak.
Catching his breath, he straightened up and blurted out, "Open the gates! The Americans are approaching!"
This declaration caused a ripple of confusion among the guards and the crowd of bystanders, prompting another guard to seek clarity. "America—what?" he echoed, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"The Americans are coming!" the man insisted, his voice laden with urgency.
Exchanging looks of doubt and bewilderment, the guards weighed his words. Was this a credible alert or a misguided joke during these unstable times? The uncertainty hung heavy in the air as they deliberated their next move.
With a shared look of determination, one of the guards fixed the elf with a stern gaze. "Don't play games with us, especially in times of war! Surrender now and make this easier on everyone."
Despite the demand, the urgency in the elf's voice held a tremor of genuine concern as he pressed, "I'm not joking! The Americans are here!"
Sceptical yet compelled by the elf's insistence, the guards exchanged glances, trying to decide their next move. One guard, interpreting the moment, gave his colleague a nod, a silent agreement to detain the elf. His approach was deliberate, his expression revealing a hint of scepticism as he moved closer.
“This is no joke! I am here under the orders of Her Majesty, and the Americans are indeed approaching as anticipated!” the elf asserted with growing desperation.
"Save that for the judge!" retorted the guard, his hand reaching for the handcuffs.
However, before he could secure the cuffs, the subtle but unmistakable sensation of the ground trembling halted everyone in their tracks. The vibrations grew stronger, puzzling and alarming the assembled crowd. Heads turned and eyes widened as the reality of the situation began to sink in, the murmurs of confusion escalating among them.
The guard's eyes widened in alarm as he felt the ground beneath him tremble, uncertainty gripping his senses. Was it a natural phenomenon or a prelude to imminent danger? Amidst the chaos, his focus shifted to the elf, who uttered a single word that sent chills down the guards' spines.
"Open the gates. The Americans have arrived."
In the wavering heat, a distant rumble reverberated, signalling the approach of something extraordinary. As the dust settled, the silhouette of an imposing steel carriage emerged, its sleek form slicing through the air with unwavering determination.
Above, a deafening roar pierced the sky as a squadron of Boeing Vertol CH-46 Sea Knights and Sikorsky CH-53K King Stallions descended, their mighty rotors tearing through the clouds. The sheer power of their descent sent shockwaves through the crowd, who could only watch in awe as the helicopters touched down with precision, leaving a whirlwind of dust in their wake.
Amidst the mesmerized onlookers, a palpable sense of anticipation hung heavy in the air. All eyes turned towards the lead vehicle, a colossal beast draped in desert camouflage, its sheer presence leaving no room for doubt regarding its formidable capabilities.
As it came to a halt before the gates, the guards stood in silent awe, their attention captured by this marvel of modern warfare. From the turret of the lead vehicle emerged a figure adorned in a multicam uniform, radiating an aura of calm assurance amidst the unfolding spectacle.
"Open the gate!" His command boomed with authority, cutting through the tension like a clarion call. Uncertainty clouded the faces of those gathered, unsure whether the approaching behemoth heralded friend or foe. Yet, as the rumble of engines filled the air, a sense of anticipation seized the crowd.
The guards sprang into action, issuing orders for the massive gates to ascend. With a mighty groan, the gates obeyed, rising to reveal the path ahead. A surge of bypassers flooded forward, their faces illuminated with a mixture of hope and determination. Within the inner city, spectators watched in awe as a wave of refugees poured through the newly opened entrance, their way cleared by the arrival of the United States.
As hundreds of vehicles streamed through the gate, the very landscape seemed to resonate with the promise of transformative change. Although the origins of these newcomers remained shrouded in mystery, rumors had swiftly circulated that the arrival of this global powerhouse heralded a beacon of hope in this embattled land.
“That is something,” one elf gatekeeper murmured, awestruck by the spectacle unfolding before him.
“Obviously, but those iron carriages—they’re something else. But what’s that smell?” Another elf inquired, his nose wrinkling at the unfamiliar scent.
“It smells like horse shite!” a third chimed in.
The elves were both intrigued and slightly overwhelmed by the Americans' arrival, bringing with them their iron carriages that emitted an odd smoke and an even stranger smell, which the elves couldn’t quite place but found unpleasant enough to cause them to cough. Nevertheless, as the vehicles rolled past, the significance of the moment overshadowed any discomfort.
“Well, that’s fucking something…” A marine muttered under his breath, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the elves.
"What the fuck did you expect, retard? We’re legit in some sort of dumbass fantasy world, and you didn’t think there’d be fantasy races?” another marine teased, giving him a playful shove with his elbow.
“So, you think there are succubi around here?” Another marine added, lewdly licking his lips.
“The actual fuck is wrong with you, dude?” his friend retorted, his words mingling with the boisterous laughter erupting from a group of younger, evidently less mature marines behind them.
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As the convoy continued, the marines inside the vehicles were buzzing with chatter and banter, their voices echoing a cocktail of awe and skepticism at the incredible sights before them. This new world was filled with beings straight out of the fantasy tales and games they knew—elves, living embodiments of mythical lore, now walking and interacting in startling reality.
Their eyes were wide, scanning every inch of their surroundings, with hushed and excited whispers filling the air. Several marines pointed out the elves with a mix of wonder and respect, captivated by their elegance and almost otherworldly beauty. Between the exchanges, there were quiet nods and looks shared, a silent agreement on the sheer uncanniness of their current mission—a vivid plunge into what felt like another dimension.
* • • • •
Selmesera, the capital of Elijah. Parlton Palace
September 11, 2021
| 2:32 PM | 0:13:32:00 | Hours.
US-Elijah Conference
Tapestries adorned the stone walls of the grand conference chamber in Parlton Palace, each depicting scenes rich in Elven heritage and cultural lore. The colors were strikingly vibrant, and the threads seemed to emit an almost otherworldly glow. Above, beautifully carved wooden beams, each detailed with Elvish symbols and intricate designs, supported the high ceiling.
Around the center of the room stood a tall, polished oak table, surrounded by exquisitely carved chairs. Each chair featured a distinct design, with flowing curves and leaf-like motifs, echoing the natural elegance of Elven craftsmanship. The table itself was a masterpiece, its surface intricately carved with images depicting magical contracts and historical alliances.
Candles, placed in ornate silver holders, cast a soft, inviting glow across the polished surfaces, enhancing the room's mystical ambience. In one corner, a towering marble fireplace, adorned with Elven glyphs that had intricate patterns that shimmered softly in the flickering candlelight. The crackling flames within the hearth leapt and twirled, sending warm light dancing across the walls, which were further embellished with enchanted crystals.
The air was filled with the mingling scents of old books, exotic spices, and the delicate aroma of Elven flowers thoughtfully arranged throughout the space. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, scattering a spectrum of colours across the floor.
As he entered the chamber and took his seat at the council table, he was struck by the stark contrast to the military environments he was accustomed to. He marvelled at the tasteful fusion of Elven's grace and mediaeval imagination that filled the room.
The grand conference chamber was already filled with members of the Elven Parliament, counsellors, and high-ranking nobility, all in quiet anticipation of the arrival of the American diplomatic delegation. The entire setting was a breathtaking testament to the rich cultural heritage of Elijah, now poised on the brink of a historic new chapter with the United States.
As the American officers made their entrance into the grand conference chamber, the room buzzed with a mix of respect and unease. Attendees rose in a uniform wave of deference, though not without whispers and murmurs threading through the crowd. The grand mage had spoken highly of these allies, but the sight of humans among the elves stirred both curiosity and concern.
"Your majesty, these are mere humans! Aligning with warmongers could invite chaos upon our kingdom!" exclaimed Sir Lorsan Ililamin, moving close to Queen Galadriel, his voice laden with disbelief and disapproval.
Queen Galadriel responded with a sharp, silencing glare, quelling the rising murmurs around her. "Your words are unwelcome in this court," she declared firmly. "I have foreseen their actions and their intentions, Sir Lorsan. Address your concerns after the conference meeting," she added, her tone leaving no room for further dispute.
Sir Lorsan Ililamin stepped back, his discomfort evident. The notion of humans as allies was a controversial one, yet Queen Galadriel remained steadfast in her commitment to this alliance. Her determination to protect her kingdom and support its future through this unexpected partnership highlighted her leadership, despite the palpable tension and the murmurs of dissent among her people.
Both she and the elder mage had long since unravelled the true complexity of the situation, having deduced it during their strategy sessions months ago. Despite the urgent assembly of human diplomats, craving alliances in the looming shadow of war, a significant portion of their kin staunchly resisted cooperation. The Americans, reluctantly entangled in this dispute, were now perceived as the harbingers of misery to their kin. Accepting this grim reality would mean confronting a bitter truth.
The grand assembly hall, usually reserved for the discourse of parliamentary officials, was bustling with an extraordinary number of spectators today. They were all there to witness the entrance of just a few representatives from the American delegation. Commanding the room from her majestic throne, Queen Goras Elaran Galadriel presided with a formidable air of authority, capturing even the steadfast gaze of the attending US Marines.
Her ash-grey hair flowed in elegant waves, softly outlining her stately face adorned with features carved from centuries of lore. Her finely shaped arches rested above deep crimson eyes that shimmered with the wisdom of ages and the depths of untold stories.
Cloaked in lavish robes that glittered with gold and silver embroidery, Queen Galadriel radiated a sovereign grace that demanded reverence. Her presence not only dominated the grand hall but also filled it with an indomitable air of command, subtly softened by her poised and graceful demeanour.
Seated regally, every gesture and posture of Queen Galadriel was measured and purposeful, reflecting her innate dignity. While her face often betrayed little emotion, the powerful aura enveloping her declared her as a monarch of extraordinary influence and legacy.
As the assembly members held their positions, several nobles and elite guards discreetly maneuvered within the grand hall, their discomfort over the presence of humans evident. Despite the palpable tension, the three Marine officers kept their composure intact, determined to maintain diplomatic etiquette under such intense scrutiny. With the air thick with anticipation, they awaited the cue for the first speaker to commence the proceedings.
"It is a pleasure to welcome you, officer, to this third conference concerning the situation at the Elijah border. I represent both the Kingdom and its distinguished monarchy. I am Queen Galadriel III, the reigning sovereign of the Kingdom of Elijah."
A smile briefly lit up the face of the most prominent figure among the Marines, his attire noticeably distinct from that of the generals and officers whose traditional outfits added an extra layer of formality. Clad in their olive green, brown, and dark grey uniforms, complete with side-holstered devices, the Marines were a stark contrast to the assembly. As he respectfully tipped his hat to Her Majesty, the others mirrored the gesture, and he formally introduced himself.
"Major General Ronald Raymond Douglas, Commanding Officer of the 5th Marine Regiment, representing the USMC."
Douglas smoothly removed his utility cap, bowing respectfully before the queen, while the man next to him returned the salute and announced his own credentials.
"Lt. Colonel Theodore Ross, Commanding Officer of the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines."
Many people knew their names and ranks, and they were seen as the kingdom's and its people's most likely saviours. Whispers and murmurs spread throughout the gathered groups as the nobility became confused upon learning they were human. They tipped their hats to display their humanity. The rumours began flying more and more around, interfering with the conference session. Queen Galadriel quickly put an end to them by raising her hand and calling everyone's attention.
As the room descended into a respectful silence, both Major General Douglas and Lieutenant Colonel Ross braced themselves for the forthcoming discussion. All eyes shifted towards the figures clad in green, with Major General Douglas stepping forward to initiate the dialogue.
"We're grateful for the opportunity to address this conference. It’s heartening to see such a significant turnout..."
"Likewise, Major General, it is a pleasure to witness the esteemed representatives of the United States Marine Corps engaging in our chamber, deliberating upon the shared threat that looms over the freedoms of our realm," Queen Galadriel responded, her voice carrying a tone of mutual respect.
Queen Galadriel recognized the willingness of the U.S. officers to lend support should their core beliefs or key resources come under threat from foreign entanglements. The ongoing collaborations with the U.S. and various distant nations had proven illuminative, underscoring the critical need for their assistance. Looking towards the officers, her expression conveyed satisfaction with their commitment to the defense of the Kingdom of Elijah. This recognition stirred a sense of solidarity among several council members and officials present in the capital.
Major General Douglas, scanning the room and noting the mixed expressions reflecting earlier tensions at the city gates, sighed before addressing the assembly.
“I'd like to address the incident at the gate earlier and extend our apologies. Moving forward, I'm pleased to announce our plans to establish a forward operating base within the capital. This will enhance our capability to conduct operations more effectively in proximity to the conflict zone."
He continued, "This operation has been meticulously planned over the past three months. The United States Navy facilitated a successful transition into this new world, and the 5th Marines Regiment has secured a beachhead at Diamond Beach. Apache Company, from the 2nd Battalion, was among the first to reach the capital. While we plan to expand our Forward operating base eventually, we will initially utilize whatever space your kingdom is willing to provide."
As the Marines reported their progress, a wave of concern rippled through the meeting attendees. The implications of allocating space to the substantial U.S. forces, particularly the 2nd Battalion of Apache Company, prompted vigorous debate. Amidst this, Sir Lorsan Ililamin, a figure as familiar as he was striking with his sharp jawline and golden hair, stepped forward to voice his reservations. His dashing looks, which had no doubt charmed many, also sparked a tinge of envy among his fellow nobles.
"Why does the U.S.M.C. require space for your military operations? And why did your forces proceed without seeking permission, rapidly deploying a significant number of troops to the capital? This could endanger both our residents and the nobility, as we were not prepared for your unanticipated arrival."
A low chuckle from Colonel Theodore Ross caught everyone’s attention, and as Sir Lorsan inquired about the amusement, his gaze shifted to Major General Ronald Raymond Douglas for an explanation.
"We were instructed by the mage to establish our base within your capital, Sir Lorsan Ililamin. We anticipate your cooperation in providing the necessary support for our missions here. It would indeed facilitate our efforts to address the pressing issues at hand. Additionally, we need to discuss the nature of the enemy threat more thoroughly."
"The United States acts in the interests of its forces, under directives issued directly by Her Majesty herself. My troops and I will adhere strictly to commands issued by Queen Galadriel."
Sir Lorsan Ililamin’s eyes darted back to Queen Galadriel, searching for any sign of dissent. Her poised expression and calm demeanour, however, confirmed her tacit approval of the General’s plans, allowing further military integration within the capital. With a frustrated click of his tongue, Sir Lorsan found it hard to accept the queen's alignment with the foreign military. Despite his discontent, he realised he was powerless to change the course of events as Major General Douglas continued outlining their strategy.
"As my commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Ross, previously mentioned, an incident occurred at Diamond Beach before this meeting. Initially, our forces received these directives from your council."
Upon hearing about the council's proposal, Sir Lorsan Ililamin couldn't suppress a smirk. It dawned on him that the proposal allowed them to exert control over the U.S. chain of command, allowing their seasoned officers to supervise the American troops.
"Indeed, Your Majesty, there is no cause for concern regarding the proposed treaty. It stands as an alliance pact, ensuring both parties collaborate on equal terms, with confidence in our capabilities," Sir Lorsan Ililamin remarked, his tone oozing with assurance.
Major General Ronald Raymond Douglas exchanged a puzzled glance with Sir Lorsan Ililamin, both seemingly bewildered by the other's interpretation of events. In response, the General offered his perspective.
"These terms are not something that the U.S. and my soldiers will accept lightly," declared the general, his voice slicing through the air with precision. His words hung heavily in the chamber, inciting a stir among the councils and casting doubt over the assembled nobility. All eyes turned towards Major General Ronald Raymond Douglas, whose unwavering demeanor now faced the scrutiny of their collective gaze. Amidst the brewing tension, Sir Lorsan Ililamin's expression betrayed a mix of disappointment and frustration, unable to conceal his discontent at the unexpected pushback against their proposed terms.
"Why do you reject the treaty that has been so graciously extended to you? You ought to show gratitude for the cooperation we are offering, yet here you are declining it. This refusal is an affront to Her Majesty. What more do you desire from us, beyond the space we have already granted for the substantial military force you've brought?" Sir Lorsan Ililamin challenged, his tone laced with reproach.
"Your initial proposal does not meet the operational requirements necessary for us to function effectively," Major General Ronald Raymond Douglas responded firmly. "Moreover, having your officers oversee ours undermines our established chain of command and goes against our military doctrine. Treating my soldiers and me as subordinates within our ranks is wholly unacceptable. We request that such conditions be removed and that we be allowed to operate independently."
As the general’s words echoed through the hall, a murmur of mixed reactions spread among the attendees. The sentiments were varied, reflecting the complexity of the situation and the high stakes involved. Amidst the background noise of debate and deliberation, Queen Galadriel herself seemed to resonate with Major General Douglas's stance. Recognizing the strategic importance of letting the U.S. forces operate under their own command.
"Authorization from Congress to deploy the 1st Marine Division to the New World with the mission of securing, protecting, and guarding the Kingdom of Elijah. This decision was made following the opening of the gate from San Diego, and only Her Majesty Queen Galadriel has the authority to enact such changes within the USMC Central Command. I have brought with me a copy of the document, signed by Queen Galadriel herself, which outlines our mandate and demonstrates her approval of our actions. It is Her Majesty who guides our movements," Major General Ronald Raymond Douglas asserted, his words carrying a weight that silenced the room.
Sir Lorsan Ililamin, feeling the sting of defeat, wore a bitter smirk as he cast a glance back at the queen, hoping for a different outcome. However, Queen Galadriel's response was clear. "I see no issue. Granting full autonomy to the U.S. military force will provide us with the necessary options to rebuild our forces."
Addressing the councilmen, she continued, "Assist Major General Ronald Raymond Douglas with any issues regarding cooperation. With that, I declare this meeting concluded."
The satisfaction on the faces of the US Marines was evident as they gained more influence over the situation. Discussions ensued among the nobles and councilmen, with some accepting the arrangement while others grappled with mixed feelings. The irony of pitting humans against humans was not lost on them, yet with the queen's decision, there was little room for debate.
Meanwhile, Sir Lorsan Ililamin watched from the crowd, dissatisfied with the preferential treatment granted to humans. Engaging in a conflict within the presence of the queen could further damage his standing. As Major General Raymond's smile hinted at the Marines' triumph, Sir Lorsan couldn't help but feel resentful. However, he knew this wouldn't be the last time he faced such circumstances.
With the meeting adjourned, the three officers exchanged glances, a sense of victory evident in their eyes. With the favours granted, the remainder of the 5th Marines regiment could begin their move into the capital. Major General Ronald Raymond Douglas shared a nod with Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Ross, acknowledging their success.
"We're fortunate to have the freedom for this military operation. By 1700 hours, the remainder of the 5th regiment should have arrived. With the space provided, we will establish a military base at Diamond Beach, serving as our primary base for operations in the New Frontier. Rest assured, we will ensure its prosperity and security. Godspeed, gents. I'll see the rest of the company at the gate."
As the three officers departed, confusion lingered among the nobility, realizing they had just witnessed a significant turn of events. The realization that their newfound allies were humans stirred concern, as misunderstandings and mistrust threatened their fragile alliance. Queen Galadriel understood the gravity of their situation and was determined to maintain the alliance, even in the face of disapproval from some leaders. With the winds of change sweeping across the world, that seemingly inconsequential meeting would leave an indelible mark on history's course.