Page 19 of Saving the Alien Chieftain

“Likely, Zyraxis has been filling the other elders’ heads with poison. If I can’t make the case I acted in the best interest of our people, they will likely condemn me as a traitor,” I answer, closing my wrist console display.

“The elders are cowardly old fools!” Xandor growls, his fangs bared. “They bend over like the most shameless whores for the Scythians… By what right do they judge us? We warriors who face death every day while they sit in luxury atop their accused mountain. Condemning those that actually wish to save our people… I say void them, Krogoth!” His hands are clenched into tight fists, his eyes blazing with righteous indignation.

“I agree the elders are cowards. They proved that the day they turned against my father. But what would you have me do, Xandor? Go into exile, inflicting the same punishment on myself? We don’t have enough support from the other clans to replace them,” I explain, my voice tinged with frustration.

“So, you mean to martyr yourself instead? I swear by the Gods if you get yourself killed and think I’ll take up the fight in your stead, you better think again! Because I’ll be whoring all over the universe, mark my words,” Xandor says, his laughter laced with bitterness.

“I don’t doubt it. Do as you wish, after you take Pebbles back to Earth,” I remind him, my voice stern.

“Of course, Chieftain,” Xandor replies, bringing a hand to his chest before he resumes looking out the glider window once more.

The relentless hum of the glider’s engines provides an oddly soothing backdrop, its rhythmic vibrations lulling me into a state of eerie calm. As we hurtle toward the Council of Elders, I contemplate the grim fate that most likely awaits me. For the crime of treason, tradition dictates a brutal end: a plunge into the seething maw of one of Scarn’s many volcanoes.

I take a moment to meditate, while the glider is quiet and Xandor is lost in thought, to steel my mind and dull my fears around my likely death.

I envision the horrifying descent. The suffocating heat and noxious fumes fill my senses, the searing agony intensifying with every passing moment. I see myself hurtling toward the molten abyss, the scorching magma enveloping me. It devours my flesh and bones, leaving nothing but a swirling inferno of pain and madness. Until, at last, I am no more.

The focus of my meditation shatters abruptly, replaced by a violent jolt as turbulence rocks the glider.We must be nearing our destination. From the window, I can see the swirling clouds and ash that shroud the peaks of Scarn envelop us, their chaotic embrace obscuring vision.

As the glider decelerates and hovers, I feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The door opens, revealing the tumultuous expanse beyond. I steal a moment to steady myself, then step out into the roiling tempest towards the rocky entrance of the council’s chamber within the mountain.

The thin, choking air fills my lungs, and the swirling hot ash stings my eyes. I grip the edges of my fur cloak tightly, its edges whipping violently in the roaring wind. For a heart-stopping moment, I fear it might tear free and send me plummeting into the waiting crags below. The clouds themselves seem hostile, their depths painted in the darkest black, crackling with bursts of eerie purple lightning. Each jagged bolt illuminates the imposing cavern entrance ahead, punctuated by thunderous roars that reverberate through the landscape like a monstrous beast awaiting its next meal.

Xandor and I hasten towards the entrance, seeking refuge from the brutal elements. I feel a wave of relief wash over me as the roaring wind and searing ash are replaced by the relativecalm of the cavern. The passageway, hewn into the highest peak of Scarn, stretches out before us.

We stride forward with purpose, eager to put more distance between ourselves and the tempest outside. Along the walls, braziers of fire flicker, casting eerie shadows against the golden statues of robed elders. Each statue bears a plaque, paying tribute to the likeness it immortalizes.

“If this goes badly… You want me to bust in and rescue you again like with Tensin Naxsus?” Xandor asks, a smile playing on his lips.

“I’d rather you live, old friend, and not throw your life away,” I respond, not in the mood for jests with my stomach churning with unease.

It’s not long before I can see figures in the distance standing before a great black door engraved in gold with the Klendathian runes for wisdom and tradition. I suppress a curse when I notice one attendant is Zyraxis.

He smirks darkly as he notices our approach. It does not bode well that with him are two other Magaxus elders easily identified because of their many runic tattoos. My Clan Draxxus had no elders among the Council of Elders, an obvious punishment to our clan after my father’s failed uprising.

My eyes are drawn to a giant Magaxus warrior standing guard behind Zyraxis. Easily a foot taller than me and as wide as a boracks, a truly imposing figure. How I would enjoy testing myself against such an opponent. His red eyes glare at me with rank hatred.Gods, he looks like a young War Chieftain Gorexius.Even his size and build are nearly identical.Could he be a clone?But the way he shows emotion suggests he’s not been genetically tampered with like the other young warriors.

“Ah, finally the treacherous Draxxus weaklings show themselves,” the giant says, sneering, his voice bellowing down the cavern. “Shame. I wanted to hunt you down myself.”

“As if we wouldn’t hear you coming, you bloated mutant,” Xandor snaps back as he steps towards the giant.

The giant lets out a dry laugh as he moves to meet Xandor’s challenge. Before chaos erupts, Zyraxis places a hand against the giant’s massive chest. “Easy now, Dracoth.” He turns to look me in the eyes. “They’ll get what they deserve very soon.”

“Violence in these hallowed halls is an offense to the Gods!” a voice roars followed by the clack of wood striking the stone floor. The sudden injection draws everyone’s attention. I recognize the old man as Vereth, an elder from Clan Sanaxus. I feel the briefest flutter of hope, as Clan Sanaxus is traditionally firm friends with my clan. “As Speaker, I shall begin this sacred judgment.” His blue eyes look at me. “Chieftain Krogoth, your Second must remain here.” He waves his wooden staff to point at the giant. “That applies to you too, Dracoth. Commit any sacrilege here and I will have you both stripped naked and left outside to enjoy Scarn’s embrace.”

“Now, if you will follow me.” Vereth knocks on the massive black door with his wooden staff three distinctive times. The sound reverberates loudly through the cavern before the door slowly creaks open as two scantily clad young female Argorians pull on each side of the door. There were rumors of the Council of Elders and their beautiful assistants dressed in open thin robes that attended to their… every need.Seeing the women now, it’s easy to believe. The old perverts.

As I step into the hall alongside Vereth, I am greeted by the sight of a grand circular chamber, with tiers of stone benches rising high above a central circle. The air is thick with the scent of ancient stone and the faint trace of burning embers. Here, the rune for “Judgement” gleams in gold, engraved into the stone.

Along the edges, braziers of fire cast dancing shadows, but the light is still not enough to fully illuminate the vast hall. Seated upon the stone benches are numerous elders, representing themany clans of Klendathor. The absence of my clan among them is the only exception. They watch with curious eyes, whispering amongst themselves perched on high.They use height to give them legitimacy and authority. I will not be cowed, however.

Vereth’s command is firm. “Stand there, Krogoth.” He gestures towards the heart of the room with his staff. “You may speak only when directly addressed.”

Vereth ascends the steps with purpose, the rhythmic tap of his staff punctuating each step. His presence among his peers is dignified, a visual display of authority. Following Vereth, Zyraxis and the two Magaxus elders take their places on the stone benches. The scent of oils and faint traces of incense linger in the air as they settle into their seats.

The sound of my breathing feels like a deafening roar in my ears as I wait in anxious anticipation of what is coming next.

Vereth erupts from his seated position with a grave determination. His hand lifts to his mouth, clearing his throat. His staff crashes against the cold, stony floor. The sound reverberates, a thunderous echo that permeates the hall.

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