The Divine Tower was built like an old Wizard’s tower, complete with a balcony overlooking the south and a roof one could walk on. Right now, Dr. Borg and her Council were sitting in a study, sans Yamta. “…I wonder how she’s getting on?” mused Tormo.
“She’s been gone for a while now,” remarked Remsu as she laid her head on Shefarn’s tail, letting him stroke her hair. Dr. Borg looked up at the ceiling.
“Well, I hope she’s having fun with that present I gave her,” she said as she indicated to Tensam that she wanted one of his tentacles around her waist. As he coiled her waist, she continued. “The man DID upend one too many of her operations and-”
“Damn Rokalla!” snapped Yamta’s voice as she stormed into the room with her hands soaked in black Orc blood. “Damn him and damn his silence a hundred times!”
“Is everything all right?” asked Tensam.
“No, everything is NOT all right!” replied Yamta. “He refuses to bow; he refuses to drink! Did you know that we assigned him one of the best pain technicians?”
“‘Pain technicians’?” asked Femfaf. “Is that what we’re calling torturers now?”
“I hope not!” shuddered Yulduk. “That sounds WAY too pretentious!”
“The guy considers himself an artist,” explained Yamta. “You know how they are with self-aggrandizing titles for their profession.” Yulduk sighed in relief as Yamta continued her rant. “One of our very BEST torturers! I felt certain Rokalla would break under his ministrations! The guy worked for two hours, not a sound! I told him, ‘Give me a cry, Rosanzi! A shout, a whimper, a scream, anything!’ All he could get was silence, so I got into it myself! You know the old saying; ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself’. Well, that was the idea, anyways, but you can see for yourself how well THAT went. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Rokalla was a mute! Silence, that’s all he gave me!” Yamta washed her hands in a basin of water. “I’m beginning to see your annoyance with him, Doctor. How you put up with him this long escapes me.”
“I had other duties to temporarily distract me from that annoyance,” replied Dr. Borg.
“What’s next for Rokalla?” asked Shefarn.
“Well, towards the end,” said Yamta as she took a cloth and dried her hands, “I thought to myself, or maybe I said it aloud, it WAS just me and him for a while, ‘Let’s hack all his limbs off! Maybe THAT will get a reaction.”
“So, he’s limbless?” asked Tormo.
“No, he passed out after he lost both his legs,” muttered Yamta in annoyance. “Blood loss and shock, I guess.”
“Well, that’s inconvenient,” sympathized Scorpo.
“I’ll get back to it when he’s conscious,” remarked Yamta, “and THIS time, if he remains silent, I mean, silence! SILENCE! Where’s the fun in that, I ask you all?! He’s so insubordinate. We can’t have him, of all Orcs, challenging our authority like that! I know you made a present of him to me, Doctor, but if I don’t get my scream, he’ll have to be killed. I hope you understand.”
“Completely, Yamta,” assured Dr. Borg. “He’ll make a fine example of our authority.” She then got up, letting Tensam’s tentacle fall, and took the basin. She then poured the contents onto a pot of flowers. “They need extra nutrients,” she said. “Life and death in perfect order, that’s our goal.” Just then, an Orc Revenant woman stumbled in, looking very terrified and hopeless. “Ms. Trulmar, are you okay?” asked Dr. Borg.
“No, Doctor, I’m not,” replied the Revenant. “I just got a frightening intelligence report. Realmfleet has just made a very…disturbing advance against us.”
“How so?” asked Tensam as he and Shefarn entered their water chairs. Trulmar’s speech was halted in a few places as she struggled to get the words out.
“One of our spies…saw Arsha and Oyed enter the Crypt of Crelima the Mad…and come back out…with a jewel in her hand. …After that, archers killed Oyed…and a massive fleet of enemy ships…set a course for our position.” The Council easily guessed what the jewel was and hoped against hope they were wrong.
“No!” pleaded Dr. Borg.
“I’m…afraid so. The spy went into the Crypt…and saw that the Talkwen Stone was…missing from the Crown. …The last thing the spy could ever report…and, in a way…I’m glad it’s over. …I think I’ll stay here and read. …The fleet should be arriving any time now. …I imagine the end will be…quite violent.”
“NO!” shouted Dr. Borg as she and her Council dashed towards the southern balcony. They looked out at the horizon and saw several shapes getting larger. Dr. Borg activated a telescopic function in her eye and got a good look at the shape leading the others. It was the Endeavor! Fury gripped Dr. Borg’s mind and heart as she activated the comms. “BATTLE STATIONS!” she commanded. “RED ALERT! ARM ALL WEAPONS!”
“Cy, we’re outnumbered and outgunned!” protested Tensam.
“I don’t care!” snapped Dr. Borg. “We still have the means to make our own lunar eclipse!”
“I’ll have the eclipse generator set for a lunar eclipse right now!” called Jansha. She dashed off to get the machine online. Dr. Borg glared out to the south again as the fleet approached.
“Arsha Royana will NOT foul the ritual!” she declared. “We WILL ascend, but NOT in Oyed’s name! All life will fight in OUR name! A legion that will rival any army ever made, and the enemy will hear them will come, for they will chant our name! WE! ARE! GODS!” She then laughed like a lunatic. A flying robot then arrived on the balcony.
“Dr. Borg,” it reported, “the Endeavor is hailing us. They wish to offer us the chance of parlay.” Dr. Borg then steadied her breathing and calmed down.
“They want us to parlay with them?” she asked. “I won’t parlay with anyone who would besiege us while we do the right thing! Open a channel and forward it directly to my comms!”