Armada by Ernest Cline

First book of 2022 done! I've been putting off reading this for a couple of years now, and I'm glad I did. Needed the distance from Ready Player One.

This book is instantly recognizable as being by the same author as that other one (and vice versa), which can be both a good thing and a bad thing. It's obvious that both protagonists are stand-ins for the author, with the same nostalgic longing for 80's-centred "geek" culture. Now that that culture has mainstreamed, books like this have a ready audience, while serving as a touchstone for the OGs to say "I was immersed in this back when-".

As for myself, certainly I can recognize a lot of the callbacks in the story - and there are a lot! - but sometimes I get lost. And that gives rise to a familiar feeling within myself, of wondering where I fit in. I may have been other- and self-identified as a geek/nerd, but there was always the doubt that I even deserved the moniker. After all, how vast was my knowledge in the required areas? Probably not enough to banter with the likes of Zack Lightman and his close circle of friends. I could listen in and nod along at times when I got the reference, but my quips and quotes would not be as plenty.

 

So if you have any nostalgia for early nerd culture, specifically in the sci-fi and alien sub-genre, you will enjoy this story. Just make sure you have enough space for large servings coming in fast!

About A Tower Unseen

I've been playing a game on my Android phone - Ayakashi Ghost Guild - since May last year (sometime during the Ninja's Elegy event). It started off as a card collecting game to play in my off time. Then they introduced Guilds to foster group play. The first Guild I joined in the game was a bust, but soon after a friend introduced me to a welcoming Guild with members from all around the world. Though there have been some bumps along the road, I've had fun with this group of people interacting on LINE chat and in the game itself.

Just recently our Guild held a writing contest, just for kicks. Since it's been such a long time since I wrote anything, I thought I'd give it a try. I'm (slightly) ashamed I didn't write much, and what I ended up submitting was more of a preview than a full (short) story. Nevertheless, the seed has been planted, and I may continue this, if only to satisfy my own curiosity.

A Tower Unseen

Neil stood on top of the hill and looked down upon the city. This used to be the best view into the city, with the iconic skyscrapers in the city centre commanding the view. Now that view was lost, with the new developments at this northern highway entrance to the city. New apartment blocks rose up into the sky, blocking the view of the city behind. This always bothered Neil, whenever he took the highway down this hill.

Now, something else was bothering him. There was another tower, rising up high into the skies, blocking out even the latest highrises. Well - to his eyes it blocked the view of all else. Most people driving down the hill would not see this tower. Most would not see an impossibly high, anachronistic - ancient Japan! - tower piercing the darkening sky. This particular tower was something best relegated to the Ghost Whisperer, if only it was not part of Neil’s life for the past two years.

Two years? Had it really been that long?

“Master?” A voice called out from over Neil’s shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie.

It was the wrong voice, of course. A little bit too cheerful. Ameno was certainly a lovely ghost - yes, a ghost! - but she was no Mira. Neil’s regular ghostly companion had gone missing a few days ago and Ameno, sensing the void, had stepped forward to be the liaison between Neil and the rest of his spiritual entourage. For three days now Neil had been searching for clues to the whereabouts of Mira.

“Is that the Other Side taking over?” Ameno was gazing towards the upper levels of the ghostly tower, which seemed to be shrouded in darkness. The higher floors were barely visible though the gloom.

Neil turned his gaze upwards too. “Nah, that’s just the haze.”

“Oh.” Ameno’s robe fluttered in the slight breeze as she turned to Neil. “Should we be wearing masks?”

“You’re a ghost, Ameno.” Neil sighed, still peering upwards. “You don’t need to wear a mask.”

“Oh yeah! What about you, Master?” Ameno smiled sweetly at Neil, her hands clasped behind her back. Neil swore she was ready to whip out an assortment of facemasks at a moment’s notice.

“Uh, no. It’s not so bad.” Neil sniffed the air. “Just smells a bit weird, that’s all.”

“Oh, ok!” Ameno turned back to the tower and took a step closer to Neil. His skin tingled as his heightened senses recognized her proximity. It was something he had shrugged off in his earlier life, but now he recognized it as his rare “ghost sense”.

“Alright then. Let’s do this.” Neil turned his head slightly and took in Ameno’s wide grin. It was infectious and Neil smiled - in spite of himself - in anticipation of the adventure ahead. “We’ve got a tower to climb!”

The Lost Emperor, Chapter 5

Commander Gargalash turned at the sound of his name. Rendoo, the mage, was holding open the entrance flap of the command tent. The mage stepped aside as Gargalash approached, ushering the commander inside. The old man looked weary, no doubt having spent all of last night and the majority of this morning working his magic. The results were impressive, as now all their thousands were as fresh for battle as on the first day of their rapid march. Even the ogres who had carried the parts of the just assembled catapults the many miles from Garfarli in East Arkra no longer felt the strain in their muscles.

Inside the tent, in the far corner, was a creature that needed no such assistance as it felt no fatigue. Swathed in black robes, no features were discernible to describe it, save for its impressive height. If there was a face hidden within the black hood, Gargalash had never glimpsed it. The creature was perpetually shrouded in darkness and cold, even in a clear field under the mid-day sun. It mostly stood still, even its robes untouched by any breeze, yet when it moved no one could describe how it moved or when it had moved from one place to another.

Gargalash was careful to maintain a strict distance from the dark creature as he made his way to the rear of the tent, towards a makeshift table with two men standing beside it. General Fheru and Emisar Wurd Bkardto were poring over two maps, one of the border country, and another of the city of Juandar. The larger map had proved invaluable in planning the movement of their forces along various routes across the border to the largely unprotected southern walls of Juandar. Now they hoped the map of the city would prove equally advantageous in planning the assault.

“Commander Gargalash, come. We need the catapults to focus on a new target.” General Fheru was a large man, with shoulders as broad as an orc’s. When he spoke, his deep voice seemed to reverberate in the confined tent. Gargalash knew that the general could have stood at the entrance to the tent and called for him where he had been inspecting the catapults just minutes earlier, and he would have heard the general’s summons.

The commander now looked to where General Fheru pointed on the smaller of the two maps. The general was tapping at a small building sitting almost against the inner walls of the castle compound. Gargalash examined the map to get a sense of the scale, then made some quick calculations. The catapults would have to be moved forward to hit that target, but since they knew Juandar did not have any Imperial longbows to bear against them, the catapults would be safe.

“It can be done.” Gargalash looked at the general and waited for the order.

“Good. See to it. Once we have confirmed the destruction of that target you may begin work on the outer walls.” The general waited for the Emisar’s nod of assent before turning to Gargalash and dismissing him. Gargalash did an about turn, exited the tent and made his way through the ranks contemplating what information the Emisar had about their true target.

The Lost Emperor, Chapter 4

Yarga was just reaching for the door when it opened, from the outside. It was the young page from earlier. Feraz, if the Minister remembered correctly. He was the ward of one of the Duchess’ servants. The Duchess preferred to hold court further West, ‘away from the barbarians’, as she put it. If Lord Tomaz had received the reports of this incursion from East Arkra any later, the Duchess and her household would have been caught on the open road. As it was, the Duke insisted she stay within the safe confines of Castle Juandar.

How safe those confines were, was now up for debate.

Feraz paused in the doorway, uncertain for a moment whether to let the Minister pass through first or deliver his message. In the end, expediency won over courtesy.

“Minister Yarga, the Duchess requests your counsel.” The page bowed respectfully as he delivered his message, and then stood aside to let the Minister pass.

“Of course, by all means. Please lead the way.” Yarga fell into step behind the page as he turned to lead the way down the hallways to the Duchess’ quarters. The page, walking in front of him, was quite tall considering his fifteen years. He had a steady gait, no doubt born of his many years of menial labour. His hair was well-kept, combed straight, and barely long enough to cover his neck.

Navigating their way through the hallways and climbing staircases, Yarga wondered what his life would have been like, if he had made different choices. Maybe he would have married, and had a son like Feraz. Maybe he would have taught at an academy, instead of serving as a Minister. Maybe he would have served closer to the interior, instead of so close to the troublesome border, where he was likely to fall to an invading army and be forgotten amongst the many dead.

Yarga shook his head to clear his mind of such morbid thoughts, just as they arrived at the entrance to the Duchess' chambers. There were no guards posted here; all the guards had been stationed to defend the entryways to the Castle.

Feraz halted, rapped sharply on the door, then carefully pushed it open. Spotting the Duchess inside nodding her assent, Feraz entered and held the door open for Minister Yarga. Once the Minister had crossed the threshold, Feraz silently shut the door and stood to one side of the entrance, waiting for further instructions.

The Duchess had been pacing back and forth in the centre of the room. Now she stopped, beckoned to Yarga and retreated to one corner. On the other side, near the windows overlooking the inner courtyard, sat her youngest daughter and a handmaiden. No one spoke.

“My Lady,” Yarga broke the silence with a bow, “how may I be of assistance?”

“Minister Yarga, thank you for coming so quickly. Am I correct in assuming that you are not occupied with the defence of Juandar?” The Duchess spoke quickly, as if for fear that she may not have time to finish any conversation. Every once in a while she would turn slightly to look out the windows, or at her daughter, sitting serenely enjoying the late morning sun.

Yarga smiled at the Duchess' implication. “My Lady, the defence of Juandar is, thankfully, left to more capable men.”

“I thought your intimate familiarity with Juandar would prove invaluable at a time such as this.” The Duchess had never been very interested in the Duke’s martial responsibilities, and so had little knowledge in those affairs.

As an orphan, Yarga had never known for certain where he was born; nevertheless, Juandar was the place he considered home. He had spent his childhood roaming the streets of Juandar, and later returned as a young Imperial administrator. After that he had spent years travelling BurJuandar, before returning to his home and joining the Duke’s Council. Only one other Minister now serving BurJuandar actually hailed from Juandar.

“My Lady, I am certain that the War Council has the necessary experience. Besides, the enemy is attacking not from the East, through the city, but from the South, directly at Castle Juandar’s walls. My familiarity with the streets of Juandar and its people are of no help.” What Yarga left unmentioned was that it made no difference, as Yarga no longer held an Imperial appointment, and no Minister except those with an Imperial appointment belonged on a War Council.

“Yes, I see.” The Duchess paused to consider the situation, wringing her hands and staring out the windows before turning back to Yarga and launching into her rapid speech. “Maybe your familiarity with Juandar could have other uses. It is not that I do not have faith in the capabilities of our fine soldiers, and the wise War Council. I know the situation is dire. My place is with my husband. I know this too.”

Yarga shifted under the intense gaze of the Duchess. She was staring straight into his eyes and he could sense her desperation. She was going to ask something great of him, and he would be forced to face up to his measure as a man. “My Lady, I -”

The Duchess cut him off, motioning for him to let her continue. “My daughter, Dayani – there must be some way for you to spirit her away from all this. She must move unnoticed, to the West, to her sister Dayaqi. You know where, yes?”

Her eyes never left his, and she pleaded as only a mother could. Yarga turned towards where her daughter sat by the windows. She was a slight girl – a young woman actually, already entertaining a fair number of suitors. She had her father's blond hair, falling in waves down her back, and his startlingly blue eyes, the colour of a clear summer sky. The rest of her features she had inherited from her mother, with the same small mouth that was versatile with smiles.

Yarga sighed as he turned back to the Duchess. She had an expectant look on her face. She had not put her request in the form of a question. “Yes, my Lady, I know where.”

“Good!” Her mouth widened into one of her more beatific smiles. “Thank you, Minister Yarga. I am indebted to you.”

“It is my honour to serve.” Yarga turned to look at the girl the Duchess had just placed under his care. She was known for a temperament that changed like the winds on the North Plains, and could be quite obstinate at times. Yarga wondered if she comprehended the danger facing them.

Perhaps sensing that her fate was the topic of conversation, Dayani stood up and faced her mother. From the corner of his vision, Yarga noticed Feraz straightening, as if to ensure the Duchess’ daughter noticed he stood as tall as her.

“If I am to escort your daughter out of Juandar, we must leave at once my Lady. And she will have to change into something –“ Yarga searched for the right words, “– plainer and more travel-hardy.”

“Yes, I understand. And what retinue shall I have accompany you?” The Duchess signalled for the handmaiden to approach as she queried the Minister. She understood the urgency of an early departure.

“I would advise against it, my Lady. The smaller the group, the safer we are.” Yarga was already considering what needed to be done to accomplish this flight to safety. They would have no time to plan as they had to leave immediately.

The Duchess gave instructions to the handmaiden to help prepare her daughter for a hasty departure, watched as she left the room, then turned back to Yarga. “I must at least send someone to assist you, and for your protection.”

“Maybe the boy,” Yarga gestured towards Feraz by the doorway. “He can help me. And a soldier from your guard, for protection. That is the most we should travel with.”

The Duchess looked worried, but she sensed she would have no time to argue the point. “Very well. It shall be done. Feraz is placed immediately under your care, to make what preparations are required for provisions and such. I will have a guard meet you in the north courtyard.”

The Duchess moved past Yarga to embrace her daughter, leaving the Minister to give instructions to Feraz. Dayani looked confused as her mother hugged her; she had not seen her mother this distraught since her sister’s wedding. This barbarian invasion might turn out to be more important than she had originally anticipated.

“Mother, whatever is the matter?” Dayani looked enquiringly as her mother held her at arm’s length.

“Hush, my dear. I just want to look at you.” Gazing at her youngest daughter, the Duchess felt she was looking at her younger self, but for the lighter hair. “You must go with Minister Yarga, my dear. He will take you to your sister. Please do as he says, so you will be safe.”

Her mother had only the faintest of smiles on her lips, and her eyes betrayed her worry. Dayani could only manage a small nod and a small smile of her own in answer. Then her mother embraced her, holding her tightly, as her mother had held her sister on her wedding day. They stayed that way for what seemed like a long time, before her mother released her and gestured for her to leave. As Dayani followed her handmaiden out, she turned to see her mother, standing at the windows, with her back to them. That image of her mother, half bathed in sunlight, would stay with her for a long time to come.

The Lost Emperor, Chapter 3

“What do you mean they march towards LiYarfah?” Lord Tomaz Cilarfa, Duke of BurJuandar, was more surprised than angry. The news had initially shocked him into sitting down, but a second later he pushed himself away from the table and marched to the mural on the west wall, stopping right in front of the circle that represented LiYarfah.

“Why would they march towards LiYarfah?” He turned around to face his War Council. “Could someone tell me why troops from LiBangden, not more than two days march from here, where we face an army of monsters from East Arkra, are now heading towards LiYarfah, at least a four day journey away?”

General Krihul shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. He was glad to have the cieyal and the planning table between himself and his Lordship. Maybe the exasperation would not be so obvious in his voice.

“My Lord, LiYarfah sits near the border –” He was cut off by Lord Tomaz, leaving little chance of unseemly behaviour from a subordinate.

“This army out there did not cross at LiYarfah!” The tension in the Duke’s voice was apparent for all to hear.

General Krihul could not help but glance at the planning table and the markers placed on the map unfurled on it. There were markers representing the many troops of Lord Tomaz’ army. Krihul’s gaze went directly to a marker placed just to the northwest of LiBangden; it marked the current location of troops normally stationed at LiYarfah. General Manasis was leading that force on the shortest path to Castle Juandar, returning from an expedition to a northern neighbour. It was Manasis who reported on the Imperial Garrison’s movements.

As Krihul raised his eyes he noticed Captain Grenald had also been looking at the same marker. It was no secret that some of Lord Tomaz’ advisors thought it unwise to send LiYarfah’s garrison northwards two weeks ago. Alliances being what they were, some begrudgingly agreed Lord Tomaz had no choice in the matter.

“My Lord, if I may, General Manasis is soon to arrive from the vicinity of LiBangden.” General Kanakashash interjected, waving at the marker Krihul and Grenald had moments ago been examining. “And I have dispatched my best Captains to speed along the arrival of our forces from the south.” Here he waved at several markers placed south of their location at the centre of the map.

Lord Tomaz stalked back to the planning table to consider the markers again. They had studied the troop placements many times over the past two days, and it all still seemed futile. The enemy had moved in scattered packs, and they marched quickly. Lord Tomaz had barely enough time to despatch riders to reorganize his armies before the enemy appeared on the doorsteps of his fortress. How an army of over ten thousand could just appear on his doorstep was beyond anyone's explanation.

Lord Tomaz ran a hand over his face, as if to wash away his despair. He understood all too well why the closest Imperial forces could not come to his aid, and yet he had clung on to the hope that his predicament was considered more pressing.

“Too far. And just too few.” Lord Tomaz seemed to be speaking to himself. There was no need to interrupt him; their forces were indeed too few. Within the castle walls there were only six hundred soldiers, barely enough to man the first defence. General Manasis marched with a thousand soldiers, and from the south there were maybe three thousand troops within a two day march. The rest of Lord Tomaz' armies were too far south, defending against another incursion from East Arkra. No one thought the two attacks were unrelated; it was obvious now that whatever master commanded the two armies from East Arkra was more powerful than any encountered in recent memory.

That alone was a discomforting thought. Lord Tomaz was certain that the Imperial Palace was aware of what was transpiring out here near the border. However, the current troubles within the Imperial family triggered by the recent assassination of the heir apparent to the throne did not help matters.

The two thousand strong Imperial Garrison from LiBangden would have been a welcome addition to Castle Juandar's defence. They were a well-equipped and experienced force, led by fearless commanders with an awesome reputation. Where Lord Tomaz had failed the Emperor, his Imperial Majesty's armies would not, for now they marched in defence of the Empire.

They had their priorities. After all, the count was now two armies that had crossed without alerting the Rangers who patrolled the border.

“It begins.” Captain Grenald's deep voice brought everyone's attention back to their present situation. The Captain was watching the cieyal, which had been focused on an overview of the enemies' frontlines. They all turned towards the large brass basin and the images dancing on the surface of the pooled water to watch as the enemies' ranks parted to allow large catapults to be pulled into place by dark, hulking beasts. “By your leave, my Lord.”

Lord Tomaz waved his consent and the Captain turned and quick-marched out of the War Room. General Krihul bowed to the Duke and followed the Captain out.

The Lost Emperor, Chapter 2

The door creaked open and a ray of light stabbed into the room. The shadow preceded the page, who squeezed past the barely open doorway and made his way to the Ministers clustered around the only table in the room. Such was the discipline required of all servants in the Duke’s household that even in this, the direst of hours in many a century past, the page walked over to the group instead of ran, arms flailing madly.

It would have been a pretty picture indeed, Minister Yarga thought grimly. If he could reach out with his thoughts he would have urged the boy to run as if he were chased by demons!

As it was, he watched patiently as the young page approached, while his fellow Ministers attempted to discuss their predicament as calmly as arranging for a winter festival. The real planning occurred a few hallways down, in the War Room, with the Generals and his Lordship. By virtue of Imperial Sanction, only Minister Feni Jaelar attended that congregation.

Yarga did not envy the Minister, as he knew Feni had a weak stomach for conflict, and the War Room was where the cieyal was located. They were doubtless surveying the enemy amassed in the lands outside the castle walls to better understand the enemy, the situation, the hope for escape. To hear the rumours was one thing, but to see the enemy through the cieyal would be truly unnerving to a simple man unaccustomed to the dreadfulness of warfare.

At last the young page was close enough to respectfully make his announcement. Yarga detected an excitement in the boy’s face, the way the eyes twitched. The murmured conversations between the Ministers gave way to silent anticipation.

“Honoured Ministers,” he began, stretching himself to his full height, “we have received word that his Imperial Highness has awakened from Trance.” There was an audible sigh of relief from the group.

This was indeed news, and each Minister in the room longed to hear the rest of it, willing the page to verify expectations of Imperial favour. It was their only hope for survival.

“We have also received news that the Imperial Garrison at LiBangden is on the march.” This prompted the other Ministers to burst into excited conversation. Finally! Salvation was on the way.

Minister Yarga maintained a grim outlook. The Commander of the Imperial Garrison was an acquaintance and, living so close to the border with East Arkra, the possibility of conflict was always a popular topic of conversation. Yarga and the Commander had discussed this very topic on a few occasions. He was not as excited as the others because, unlike even the young page, he knew which way those battalions marched.

And so must those in the War Room.

Yarga raised himself from his seat to stretch his legs. The page, waiting to be dismissed, sought permission from Yarga’s eyes. The Minister waved him away and pondered if there would be other news later in the day.

After all, the Emperor was no longer in Trance.

The Lost Emperor, Chapter 1

The most heavily defended city in all of South Arkra was the Imperial Capital, Jurathia, named after an Empress from Ages past. Many have seen the wonders of this sprawling city.

At the center of Jurathia was the most heavily guarded building in the land, the Imperial Palace. Sitting atop a hill, there were spectacular views of the Imperial Capital, the mountains to the northwest and the plains stretching to the south. Many passed through the gates of the Imperial Palace daily.

Within the Imperial Palace, deep in its heart, was the most heavily protected room of all. It was known simply as the Trance Room. Most have heard rumours of the room; very few have stepped foot within its confines.

The Trance Room was a square room with two small unassuming doors. One led to an antechamber which opened up to a hallway and a flight of stairs on either end. The other led to a small retiring chamber. The walls of the Trance Room were heavily inscribed with runes, both visible and invisible. In the centre was a circular pedestal with three wide steps, and at the top sat a white marble throne, in stark contrast to the red stone of the rest of the room. The room was lit by a silvery glow emanating from four crystal balls placed on pillars standing at shoulder-height at each corner of the room. The light from these crystal balls would sometimes dim to the brightness of a solitary candle, and would sometimes brighten to a degree that the room seemed open to the noon sun. Those entering the room were always wary for these changes in illumination.

The Emperor would always be conditioned for these changes in lighting, for he spent the most time in the Trance Room.

When Mal Jiyun entered the Trance Room from the antechamber, three of the crystal balls glowed like a full moon, whereas the one in the far right corner was hardly noticeable. As he stepped closer to the throne he noticed the blue shimmer of the magical shield that surrounded the top step of the pedestal and the throne like an egg shell. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of his robes as he walked, amplified in his ears by the otherwise oppressive silence of the room.

At the foot of the pedestal Mal paused for a respectful bow towards the figure of the Emperor. The Emperor, seated in his throne, unmoving, was in Trance and therefore would not notice Mal, but he was still the supreme ruler of South Arkra.

Slowly, and with carefully measured steps, Mal climbed the pedestal until he was inches away from the shimmering magical shield protecting the Emperor. It was always unnerving being this close to the Emperor, watching him in Trance, eyes wide open, immobile as a statue. Mal leaned in as close as he could without feeling the burn of the shield; from his vantage point slightly to the right of the Emperor he could see the Emperor’s lips were indeed parted ever so slightly, as reported by the previous Watcher.

His attention focused on the Emperor’s frozen face, Mal did not notice when all four crystal balls dimmed. It was only when the Emperor’s face seemed more lit by the shimmering blue shield that Mal realized how dark the Trance Room had become. Just as he turned to inspect the nearest crystal ball behind him, the room was thrown into sudden daylight. Caught off-guard he did not hear the pop of the magical shield dropping into the floor.

“Watcher.” It was the Emperor’s soft whisper that Mal heard first.

Shocked into action, the young Watcher ran down the pedestal, almost tripping on his own robes. He turned at the bottom and went down on one knee. As he was lowering his head he noticed the Emperor gesture towards him.

“Come up here Watcher.” The Emperor waved at Mal to rise up the steps. “How do you expect to hear me properly from all the way down there?”

Mal stood up and retraced his careful steps up the pedestal again, taking the time to catch his breath. Once at the top, he approached the marble throne, keeping his eyes low.

“Your Majesty, I am Mal Jiyun.” Mal bowed his head perfunctorily.

“Come closer, Mal Jiyun. You must be a new Watcher.” The Emperor’s voice was coming out raspy, from a throat too long dry. “Lean your ear close to me.”

Mal did as commanded, stepping closer to the throne and leaning his head down to hear clearer.

“There is a balmaj coming down the stairs right now. Tell him to report to Master Seyarn that I have asked for balmaj Aramus Jilarni.” The Emperor pronounced the name slowly, for Mal’s benefit. “Remember that name.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Balmaj Aramus Jilarni. It will be done.”

“Now, Mal Jiyun.” The Emperor gripped the arms of his throne and pushed himself up. Mal had backed away and was now rushing to the antechamber door. The Emperor went around the throne and slowly traced a path down the pedestal and towards the retiring room. He longed to quench his thirst with the water provisioned there.

Inside the rear chamber the Emperor found a seat and drank sweetened water from a flask. The Watchers made sure to keep a fresh stock of provisions in the retiring room. Over the centuries the Watchers had learned what provisions would be best suited for the Emperor waking from Trance: lots of liquids and fruits. While waiting for the balmaj he had summoned, the Emperor crunched on a crisp apple, stretched his legs before him and reviewed the visions from which he had just awakened.

He did not have long to wait. The door on the far side of the Trance Room opened and he heard someone running in. The figure that came into sight wore the half-robes of a balmaj and had the requisite glowing blue eyes from perpetual mage vision. Aramus Jilarni stood as tall as an average man, shorter than the Emperor, and had the shoulders and arms of one trained in heavy swordplay. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and he wore it free. On his left hand he wore the three rings that marked him as an Emissary of His Imperial Highness, the Emperor of South Arkra. He ran effortlessly, his body conditioned to physical exertion, unhampered by the sword strapped across his back.

Aramus paused at the doorway to the small room the Emperor rested in, his fingers pulling runes from the ether. He put together a simple spell and released it as he drew closer to the Emperor, enveloping the Emperor and himself in an invisible globe of silence. Whatever orders he received from the Emperor would be heard by his ears alone.

“My Lord, I am Aramus Jilarni.” Aramus knelt in front of the Emperor and raised his face to his Master.

Emperor DeGarak II, Master of the Balmaj, paused to consider Aramus. Images from his visions passed through his mind.

“I have found the Lost Emperor.” Only the upper ranks of the balmaj knew the truth behind the myth. From Aramus’ unchanged expression, and the sharp intake of breath, the Emperor judged Aramus had already been inducted into those rare ranks. “He is in danger now and must be protected. You cannot fail. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord. My life for his.” His response required no forethought. His only purpose was to serve in the protection of the Emperor and the Empire.

Aramus considered the Emperor’s news. In view of the current conflicts within the Imperial family, the Lost Emperor would be highly sought after by many parties. It was highly unlikely that the identity of the Lost Emperor was known to anyone. Even the Emperor had spent weeks in Trance searching for his identity.

Yet, Master Seyarn had warned them about enemies from other lands. Every day now there were reports from the border with East Arkra; some of it alarmed Master Seyarn enough to send personal scouts. If only Aramus could know what those scouts reported. As it was, he would have to piece things together himself.

The Emperor stood and began to walk out; Aramus followed him, maintaining the globe of silence surrounding them.

“Go to Castle Juandar, near the border. They are under attack. I will instruct Master Seyarn to send some balmaj to assist, but their task is only to distract.” The Emperor glanced askance at Aramus. You must be my eyes there. When the Lost Emperor is found, I will inform you. This last the Emperor sent into Aramus’ mind.

Aramus felt the urgency behind the missive. Much was happening already.

NaNoWriMo 2007 – The Lost Emperor

In October 2007, when someone introduced me to NaNoWriMo, I thought it was a cool idea. I also thought it might provide me the impetus to keep at a writing project. That’s why I signed up after a few days thought.

The story I started writing was one that had been bouncing around in my head for some time already. It wasn’t a complete story in my head; just elements of a story. NaNoWriMo gave me the chance to start pulling the disparate parts into a coherent tale. I’m still not certain how it’s going to end up, since I wrote it without an outline. NaNoWriMo is about getting your “writing juices” flowing, and just writing as the ideas hit you, aiming for a 50,000 word target in a month. I didn’t even reach ten percent of the word target though, since I’m too much of a perfectionist to just type without a filter. I still spend too much time considering how to write, instead of writing. Hopefully, with more practice writing, that filter will process faster.

For NaNoWriMo, I didn’t write in chapters. Later, I edited what I had written a bit, and divided it into chapters. It’s still a work in progress, and I would like to finish it someday. What I’ll be posting here are the first five chapters. Chapter five was finished post-NaNoWriMo 2007. The rest will come as and when I write it and am happy enough with it to share.

About Mission: Evacuation, Episode 1

Mission: Evacuation is the first piece of fan fiction of an established universe that I have tried. The setting is the PC game Total Annihilation (TA), which, admittedly, didn’t have a very detailed universe. TA was a revolutionary real-time strategy game that came out in 1997, but I won’t go into the merits of the game here. Even though story was not the strong point for the game, TA was very popular in its time. With that popularity came the fan fiction.

Many people drew on the basic threads established by the game’s creators and wove their own stories, sometimes with only the most tenuous of links to the original story. The premise of the game was simple: two warring factions have waged deadly battle over centuries, spanning galaxies in their conquests. One side, the Arm, and the other side, the Core. Some backstory was provided in the campaign mode of the game, but there were more questions than answers. So when the fans started writing their own stories, there were many different takes on the universe.

I wrote my own fan fiction during Christmas break, 1998. It was my first time writing fan fiction, but it was easy considering I didn’t have much canon to consider. I wanted to bring a more human element to the universe, since too much focus had already been given to the “mechanical” aspects of war. I have fixed some spelling and glaring grammatical errors in this first story, but otherwise it is left intact. I had started on Episode 2, but did not get far, and I’m not sure I will continue this.