Zelpha Novel

Zelpha Novel

Prelude: It Begins

Mortikan; the darkest and vilest of all the countries in Zelpha was known throughout all history books. However, much wasn’t known of the first Emperor there; Garn Tasn Zheng. At that time, the Holy Lands had given Mortikan to the Celestial that was supposedly to become the next Yu Hasho in the Hithiren Otenji Lithiiran Yatayako (Holy Lands for short). Garn had made it clear that his intentions for his rule would be evil so every other nation decided to shun Mortikan. Of course, being him, he would never let it rest just like that. Spending years on creating a vast army, he soon unleashed a devastating attack on Pastee, sinking the legendary library. Besides that, he had also taken the opportunity to rid Zelpha of the Kenjikan king. After the rest of Zelpha had seen what Garn had done, he became the most feared dark lord of the century… -excerpt from The History of Zelpha


Within the foul country of Mortikan was the White Palace where the dark lord, Garn, resided. No one besides those under his rule ever stepped into it. The gates of the vile country made sure of that. The palace was heavily guarded by intimidating Undeads, vicious vampires and rotting zombies. Due to the surroundings of the palace, it made the building look rather out of place with its white design. However, within was very dark. Only a couple of candles were lit in each room.

Now what of Garn? Well all that people knew about him had become mere rumors. The fact that he was a Zheng was long forgotten to all, but those who carried the family name. Most people simply called him Garn the Terrible or the Dark Lord. Many had never seen the emperor of Mortikan, although those who survived his attacks described him as a tall dark man with fathomless black eyes, whose hair was always neatly tied by a single silver string into a loose pony tail. His apparel was more widely known, however. He always seemed to wear the same tuxedo and cape. No one ever commented about his looks or anything else.

“If only they saw the real me…” A young voice said with a snort.

Upon the dark green throne of Mortikan’s palace was a figure that would make one’s jaw drop if anyone said he was Garn, but the fact was…this was Garn. There sat a beautiful example of a fallen angel. His eyes were closed and he wore an expression of satisfaction. The figure had a flawless face and violet bangs tumbled down each side of his face and was a few inches past shoulder length. The rest of his long hair was visible till it passed the neck, for it was shielded by two magnificent white wings, folded neatly so he could sit. Edges of his long elfin ears poked out shyly past his hair. He was of a wiry build and draped upon his body was a black silk robe, which hung loosely around the legs and arms. His shoes were made of something similar to-but stronger than-silk and were also black. Despite his extremely feminine features, his actions were very masculine and so was the way he sat.

“I bet my whip that if they saw the real you, they all would die of shock.”

Garn opened his eyes, revealing the fathomless black eyes (which seems so far to be the only thing those fools of survivors got correct). The eyes strayed to his left only to see an even more feminine boy. His apparel was similar to Garn’s, but they were blood red. Also, he didn’t look a year over sixteen and had very similar features to Garn. The only real thing that separated the two was the eyes. The boy’s eyes were red…demon red.

“Saki my dear boy, if that were only true, then I wouldn’t have to deal with these fools. However, you don’t have to give me your whip, Death Dealer would do just fine for me.” Garn responded with a slight sneer.

Saki gave a slight smile, sensing Garn’s subtle sense of humor. He walked over to the dark lord and took a seat on the left arm of the throne.

“You know son…I really must insist upon you to be more aggressive. If you don’t…I wouldn’t know what to do if I were to…” Garn sighed and didn’t say another word.

Although it was obvious that Mortikan and the Holy Lands were at war, Mortikan was oddly untouched. Of course, it was common knowledge everywhere that Mortikan was at the verge of winning. In fact, Garn estimated it would merely take just one more day at the most, before he would have won Mortikan the powerful nation. And yet, at the presence of his son, he seemed worried.

“Dad, you shouldn’t be worrying. You should be happy.” Saki said to take Garn’s mind off that one topic that always seemed to make his father worried.

“Ah yes…I’ve got everything don’t I?” If anyone in his shoes said that, they would’ve been telling the truth.

The dark lord not only had a powerful nation and was about to add to it, he also had a secure reign and an heir. Nothing, but the eternal strive for more power, could be lacking at that. However, there was a nagging feeling in Garn’s heart which wouldn’t go away…

“Mhm. I bet all the other rulers are positively jealous of your great life!” Saki said cheerfully.

Garn wore a thin smile at that.


Centuries later, Garn still wore that same thin smile as he recollected that memory. However, that was then and this was now. Coincidentally, a day after that, the dark lord had lost everything. Now, he was no more than a servant and advisor of the new dark lord who was named after the nation itself.

Garn now looked around twenty years older with sweeping silver hair, which was waist length and unkept. Upon his neck was a foul dark collar sealed with the seal of Mortikan. He wore a tattered black vest over the basic brown servant robe. His shoes were gray in color and rather filthy. Upon his left wrist was a single golden bangle and sheathed on his old belt was a blade named Dark Blood (Death Dealer had been lost years ago). There was a ripped page of The History of Zelpha in his hands. It spoke of him and his deeds. Despite the fact that many things about his history were still a blur to him, the memory of himself as a dark lord helped him in these pitiful times.

The new Dark Lord had named himself for the country, though his birth name was almost as intimidating: “Tigris Indus Mecca I”. He was arrogant, tall, and handsome in an effeminate way. He had been born of the House of Mecca, which had dominated the northern Estonrell Confederation, a union of feudal independent anti-Garn city states.

Yet that federation had come to rule Mortikan, and at its head, ruling with an iron fist was Tigris I, Dark Lord Mortikan.

The White Palace no longer existed. The city of North Hampton, Garn’s capital, had been, for the most part, destroyed, the palace certainly. He had replaced the palace with a smaller keep and turned the city into a slaughter house, a complex that with the use of necromancy, took citizens from the farms of Mortikan, killed them and transformed them into gross zombie-like creatures.

This was delicious irony since the “Undead” race now ruled a kingdom guarded by just those.

Estonrell was now the capital, the grand city that his family had ruled, and built for three hundred years. He was the longest ruling Mecca, probably because he had extended his life through the unnatural art, known only to the most powerful Undeads.

The city sat upon a tall mountain, although it buried deep in it, so that only villas of the very wealthy were on the mountain side, with the majority of the city burrowed like that of an ant or bee, deep in the mountain, a cancer.

The city revolved around a semi-submerged hall, vast in size and depth. Once it was sunny and bright, during the rule of the Lok Alaska II. Lok, a pitiful title, “Prince.” It was an older dialect of the modern Zelphanese. He preferred “Dark Lord.”

The top of the mountain was covered in the palace of the Dark lord, as opposed to the “White Palace.” The Palace, like most of the architecture of the outer villas, halls and palaces of Estonrell were dark gray.

The Palace was remarkable, its design inspired. The top of the mountain was crowned with a wide, long aqueduct, that ran far longer then either side of the mountain, a man made river, created by a spring pumped from deep in the mountain, ran off each end, so that man made waterfalls fell into a lake that made the mountain into an island. On either side of the river, are two huge, tall towers, the Ivory tower and the Ebony tower rose (White and black respectably).

Although it was in those two towers that the government and power of the new Mortikan rested all along the man made river, small islands that housed cozy guest palaces, summer houses and parks, were favored among the courtiers of Mortikan.

Though the majority of the city was underground, the terraced, semi-submerged palaces, houses, villas, mansions and communities that made the mountain look like a jewel bedecked ornament, were vast in themselves.

However, it was on top of the palace that Mortikan spent more of his time and it was on thus that the current scene took place on.

The Dark Lord walked through one of the summer palaces, in a cocky manor. He too affected the young look, and actually modeled himself very closely after Garn.

“Hello slave,” Tigris said, entering the chamber that Garn was in.

He looked at him, and then with lightning quickness snatched the piece of paper from his slave’s hands. After examining it, he gave a hoarse laugh.

“Sentimental Garn, that's unlike you?” His great, great grandfather had been a close friend of Eston, who was crushed by the “King of Zelpha”, The Emperor of Kenjiko.

That had been the beginning of the enmity between his family and Garn. It was rumored that Mecca and Eston had been lovers. He wasn't one to judge, but he thought that could only be the reason that his family hated Garn still.

Shortly after the provinces of Morr, Ty and Kin were united under the rule of General Eston, the Emperor Malky of Kenjiko, who also bore the title King of Zelpha sent Garn, with Kenjikan armies to destroy Eston. Mecca had gone north and built a city-state and founded what would soon dominate the Estonrell Federation.

Garn closed his eyes in response to that. A silver key materialized in the pitch black he now saw. A hand much like his own took it and inserted it into the key hole of a door that was now visible. The key was turned carefully and Garn heard a ‘click’. That was when he opened his eyes with a new view of things. He looked over slowly and glared at Mortikan. Standing up, he threw his head back defiantly.

“What’s it to you Mortikan?” Garn snarled.

Mortikan raised one eyebrow.

“Never speak that way to me again,” he said, and with a wave of his hand a sharp pain was sent down Garn’s spine, a pain great enough to be likened to a lightning bolt.

Yet, the Dark Lord seemed amused by this display and looked at his former rival.

“Something has changed, tell me,” the collar would make sure that no secrets were kept from Mortikan.

Garn’s only response to the pain was a grunt and an unwanted buckling of the knees. Smirking, he looked his so-called “master” in the eye.

“After so many centuries, you really believe your spell wouldn’t lose its powers? I should thank you for this little visit for it seems your enchantment faded so much that I am now capable of more than just one rational thought a day.” He responded and in the process, hiding away his fury at the fact that he couldn’t lie.

Mortikan was taken aback. Extremely taken aback, but also amused.

“Silence fool.” He said waving his hand, over again, to bring Garn to his knees with the pain.

“Think all you like, but I shall punish you greatly if you every raise your voice to me again. You are still enough under my spell that I could bust your brain with my power,” he said, squeezing his fist so that pain beyond pain flooded through Garn, illustrating the Dark Lord’s point.

“A transfer of power is soon to come in Serdio. I want to move once it does. Some naive brat will be on the throne; perfect to take advantage of my southern neighbor...I have plans, but I want you to think upon your recent tactlessness before we discuss any of my future wars,” he said, striking his fist into his palm so that yet another wave of unbearable pain shot though Garn and with that, he left the former dark lord to brood.

Breathing heavily, Garn glared at Mortikan until he was out of sight. Then, he slumped to the floor. He hated this…he hated how his life made such a dramatic turn after that one fatal mistake. In the silence of his chambers, he let his mind drift off again to various fragments of memories and other things.


The Kingdom of Serdio was not always as lavished as it came off to be. The wondrous spires of its capital and complexity of the royal palace took time. Deprived from Kenjiko long ago, Serdio was made from a string of many forts and settlements to hold Kenjikian power.

These numerous forts as well as settlements rebelled. Kenjiko, weakened from numerous bouts with Mortikan and other settlements, could not get forces to fight these traitors. Thus, Serdio was born.
The kingdom never took off much and remained weak and fragile, filled with barbarian hordes. These uncivilized beings were hired by the Kenjikians...for the sole purpose of bringing Serdio back to Kenjikian hands.
Until the great Calov dynasty of Serdio (in the year 801,500) did Serdio decide to start catching up in industrialization. Trapped in its own little dark age, the Calov dynasty pushed Serdio in such a direction that it began to use carriages and feudal ways of the knights.
Still, this trapped time brought little effort. Kenjiko still used its superior weaponry to fight with Serdio, but again, the rebellious state retained power, keeping the Kenjikians away. After the last attempt in 90,000 AZ, Kenjiko fell back to maintain its own power.
Then, in the late century of 90,000 AZ, a new power came to Serdio, the Rlugias. Even though they were of the serf/peasantry class, their claim to the throne could not be ignored. So the Serdian palace called forth the best noble family, one which could take the throne. This lavished noble family did a thing which shocked the palace, however. They turned down the throne and gave it to the Rlugias! Oh, how embarrassed the palace was, placing the crown upon a common man!
And so we fast-forward to today. The Rlugias have the kept their throne, despite many coups and as well as modernizing Serdio and some of Zelpha with new ideas and inventions. Even though it remained more fragile than most countries, it was becoming strong enough to stand on its own two feet. When Kenjiko was destroyed by Mortikan in the new age of 1,000,000 AZ, this was a happy age. And now, we can see a new king, a new ruler of Serdio of the Rlugian dynasty; first, Graith the magnificent, then Dionysus the Powerful and now Drake. Will he inherit true fame like those before him or shall he simply fail as a King? Only time will tell.

---1,000,035 AZ, Mystice Grand Palace:
In his room, Drake sat while surrounded by maids, fashion specialists, hairdressers and the works. All pomped around the royal heir, preparing for his crowning ceremony. Drake groaned; he wished he could be out having fun and not be paraded around like some doll.
"Oh, he needs more beauty powder." An attractive red head, dressed in a tight bodiced gown mused, taking a large powdering item and smacking Drake in the face with it multiple times.

His peachy skin was glistening brightly, which irked Drake considerably. All around him, his clothes were being rapidly changed; on and off, on and off! However, Drake kept still. He was dressed in olden Serdian clothes, newer ones and even foreign ones from dead Kenjiko. It was a pain, yes, but the prince intended to perfect for the coronation. Finally, after FIVE whole hours, the prince was ready.

Trish strolled in carelessly, dressed in a simple white gown. She disliked being dressed up, and so far had managed to escape the, very powdery it seemed, fate of her brother. Her hair, nearly waist long (Trish had threatened to jump out a window if anyone got near her with a pair of scissors), shone with a red tint in the light, and her eyes flickered with amusement watching her brother. She was glad Drake was chosen to be king, she preferred wandering to ruling. It gave her a selfish feeling, that she should live such a free life while her brother was kept here, but she knew her brother would be fine.

"Drake, it's time to go!" she sang lightly, though her eyes flashed as the women turned their eyes on her with combs and make-up in their hands.

She skipped out, clearing the way for her brother.

Drake was an awkward boy, standing at 5'9'' and weighing one hundred fifty pounds. He looked as if man hood had just struck him. His hair, an untaming brown, was combed down. His loving amber eyes (the envy of all Serdian school girls), glowed with an untamed ambition. The clothing style chosen was new Serdian. He wore silk blue pants, perfectly knitted by the best seamstress in Mystice Grand Palace (an old crone from the Holy lands). His shirt was a silk white with the emerald green Serdian insignia. Then, draped around him a jade green robe; the monarch robes.

"Coming sis!" Drake called down to Trish, who was most likely waiting for him with his entourage.

He wanted to run...but he was promptly stopped by one of the fashions designers. A young overdressed woman pulled his robes back, firmly smacked his hand.

"No milord Drake, divine heir to the Serdian rule...you can't run. A king must walk with dignity, not run like a poor peasant!" She screamed in a fake Kenjikian accent.

Drake nodded and complied. With that settled, he began to walk. Drake's walk was careful, as people from behind held the robes up. His entourage was composed of a few knights and healers, in case he was attacked. Many maids gave hushed "good lucks" and many workers smiled. The prince has always been kind hearted like his sisters. His march was perfect; his royal lessons, by numerous foreign tutors had proven a success. As he reached the gate of the palace, preparing to trek across the plains, a man stood in the way.

"Professor Hiaran!" Drake called, formally walking over, and bowing with respect.

He could no longer run; the prince's childhood was over. He was to grow up and be the royal king. The old man returned the bow, beaming brightly.
"Professor Angelina, and my lessons have paid off much. Your walking is fit for a king, and your skills at debating and war are superb too. Your reign will be the best Serdio has seen. Your campaigns of war will show this world a true meaning!" The professor hooted, carefully leaping up.

Drake gave a slight frown.

"I don't want to wage war sir," Drake replied glumly.

War was such a terrible thing. Although he had not seen any wars from Serdio yet, the gruesome tales of the Mortkanian wars in novels were eerily frightening. Just twenty years ago, a large Kenjiko existed. Now all that remained was Bali, a lone island.

"You'll get used to it, my dear boy. Now, you should get going. I'm sorry to have delayed you." Hiaran then stepped out of the way, but before Drake could go, he looked back at the professor.

"Will you remain to teach me?"

"I'm afraid not. Your schooling is done; you're as smart as the greatest Kenjikian philosophers. I will go off, to tutor other royal heirs, so that they may follow in the same footsteps as you." Hiaran spoke softly before turning away to go pack his things.

Drake sighed, and marched out, and into the plains. Drake and his entourage reached Esto Gaza's town square about an hour later. The whole square was crowded; from nobles to peasants. Drake could see many bright faces and heard many screams of delight as the young prince continued to march. His guards kept close, to keep him sheltered from the grabbing hands of the people. Drake walked up the stairs, to a small stage used for coronations.

As the prince walked up, whispers followed. Standing at the top, was a ragged old man; this was Shayaateen, the advisor. Dionysus the former king, pomp in his royal clothing, stood there as well with his beloved Queen Nadia nearby.

"Foor rafe qyn bare." (Translation: "The time has come.”)

Dionysus calmly stated, raising up the ceremonial sword. Drake knew his part well; all he needed to do is bow and accept the blessing of the gods. However, he froze up! The divine heir of Serdio could not move those bean poles which were legs!

"I said...Foor rafe qyn bare!" Dionysus said yet again, in a higher louder tone. Drake looked up to his father and gave him a scowl, pulling him as close as possible.

"I can't move!" Drake hissed; his voice full of anxiety and fright.

Dionysus too was shocked, as well as frightened. He looked over into the crowd, and gave a slight bow, to say sorry. He couldn't allow his son to be frozen up like that so he had to make a diversion...and a damn good one at that.

Trish, who had been standing in the crowd (she'd slipped away while everyone was watching Drake march to the stage), raised an eyebrow as she watched her father and brother behaving oddly. It seemed as if something had not gone quite to plan. Drake appeared to be rather glued to the spot and Dionysus was searching for something or someone.

"Hmm…" she murmured softly, "This is getting a bit dull."

Moving her hand over, Trish felt her fingers brush against someone's purse. She smiled mischievously as she placed a spell on it, then pulled her hand away quickly and waited for the results.

"ARGH!!!" The poor woman's scream sliced through the air. "My purse, it's, it's EATING me!"

The people around her scattered, wide-eyed at the sight. Indeed, the woman's purse seemed to be trying to engulf her hand. Trish put on a concerned face as she moved towards the woman.

"Oh my, what do we have here? Seems like a simple trick spell." She nodded, smiling lightly. "Don't worry, this can easily be rid of."

As she placed both hands on the purse, Trish ordered her magic to stop and return back to her. The purse went limp.

"See? And you're not even hurt. It was probably someone's idea of fun." She nodded cheerfully as the woman thanked her and then turned back to see what her father and Drake were up to now.

Dionysus sighed in relief; he had managed to get Drake back up to par while the woman had a panic attack with her purse. Drake wanted to laugh, but he bowed. Dionysus took his next part, and moved the sword unto Drake's head.

"Foor nrmaorc." (Translation: "The strength.")

And from Drake's head, Dionysus moved it to Drake's right hand. Dionysus went into his second speech for the heir.

"Foor xawem." (Translation: "The valor.")

Dionysus took the sword from the right hand, moving it into Drake's left. The final part of the ceremony and after this, Drake would rise. Not as a prince, but as a king! He could finally take his place within the world as a ruler.

"Foor pmade." (Translation: "The pride.")

And with that, Dionysus removed the shining, ancient blade from Drake's left hand and tossed it upwards. The sword exploded, and faded. It would easily reappear at the next coronation, but that would not be happening for many decades. Drake rose up and within moments, Shayaateen took his princely robes, giving him heavier kingly robes. Nadia supplied the golden scepter, which Drake held in his right hand and then Dionysus removed the crown from his own head, placing it upon Drake's.

The new king felt like he was going to fall over. The gaudy large crown literally made him sway, whilst the robes nearly pushed him to the floor. Still, he held his composure, as he looked out into the crowd of nobles, and peasants.

"Hello, everyone! I am King Drake Rlugia I, your new king of Serdio! I hope to differentiate myself from my father and grandfather," Drake had began, giving his father a look as if to say "Don't worry." "You see, my grandfather was unskilled. He did not attend school, and my father had little as well. However, I have been wondrously educated by foreign tutors and diplomats from the world over and I hope to bring Serdio a golden age! My plans are to industrialize Serdio, begin plans for providences, and stretching out our diplomatics. I believe that is all. My government shall be taking over ruler ship next month, however, but until then, I bid you adieu!" Drake shouted.

Many gave odd looks, mainly the nobles. The last two kings were great, but did not have the brains to lessen noble power in Serdio, thus knights and feudalism ran high. Yet this new king...he was educated, and could easily gain more power for himself. And thus, a plan for a coup was formed...to be executed the day of his true ruling.

--One Month Later: Mystice Grand Palace.

"Well, I and your mother are departing Drake." Dionysus stated.

Although Drake had "formally" become king one month ago, his father truly ruled until this day, one month after the ceremony. Many novels wrote about true stories, where a prince would be coronated, but he would never truly rule. Drake was lucky his father was not that way. You see, Dionysus's health had steadily worsened over his reign, thus Drake took over nine years(All Serdian princes/princesses gain the throne at 25 and Drake is 16.) before he was supposed to. So Dionysus and his wife would retire to Eden to live, whilst Drake and his siblings would remain in Mystice. The siblings would simply provide Drake company for the fact he was not wed yet, like most Serdian princes were...but then again, Drake did begin his reign quite early.

"Yes father. I hope Slifer blesses your dowager-" Drake was cut off when Dionysus put his finger to Drake's lips, causing them to stop emitting sound.

"Do not worry about me. Slifer should bless your reign, not the remainder of my life as a dowager. Good bye son, tell Trish, Sage, and Nina that we said goodbye...I wish they could get up earlier though…" Dionysus began, but Nadia pulled him away from Drake and out the gates towards their carriage that would carry them to Eden. All three engaged in vigorous waving and with that, the parents were gone.

--Later that Morning: Mystice Palace.

After his parents left, the king took over very quickly. Documents had been signed and very quickly at that. Drake had already signed the Declaration of Trust, stating Drake was to give up any Princeships he may hold in other nations and the fact he could no longer inherit the throne, even if he had relatives. Luckily for him, none of his other close family were royalty, thus the Declaration of Trust was useless for him.

Among others, Drake signed numerous bills and laws to bring Serdio from its eerie dark age. However, one bill slipped past him. A spell had been put upon it to be read differently by Drake. However, to everyone else, this bill read:

The Bill of Abdication:
King Drake Rlugia I, divine and absolute ruler of Serdio will give up his newly founded powers, handing them over to the knights and nobles. A House of Lords will be composed, to stop our ill-king from ever regaining an absolute power EVER again.
Signed,
Alex Kroug, Baron of Esto Gaza.

The fated bill was of course, the peaceful method to a coup. Before he could sign it, however, Drake had to go to a meeting. And during his rush out of the throne room to the dining room, Drake's swishing robes knocked the bill off the table and into the royal fireplace, burning it into cinder.

The nobles were of course, infuriated. Their ruler must've been smart to find out what the paper truly said. Or had a stupid fault taken place and something else happened? So the nobles went on the offensive. Raising armies, training soldiers; yes...the nobles would crush the king through force! And so coup two went into action…
And then coup two failed terribly. Before the nobles could attack, a raiding by wild men took place south of Serdio. Thus, the nobles’ men were drafted into the Serdian Imperial Navy. Lest to say, these noble armies returned, in less than mint condition.

Alex Kroug's Manor:

"Gah! Our king must have some dumb luck. He waged war before our attack, and somehow avoided our bill! We're running out of ideas you know," Alex Kroug, the head of this coup muttered.

After the fiasco with the noble's armies, many nobles defected, happy with the little power they kept. Still, Kroug and others kept with it. Coup three, they decided, would have to work! They would draw support from the economists and use economy to crumble the king!

And if you've noticed a trend, coup three failed too. The economists decided to help the nobles for a fair share of gold, but the king's reign had been so successful thus far that stores had week to month long sales! These low prices brought tons of money in and by seeing how rich they had; the economists closed their doors on the nobles.

"I...can't believe it!" Kroug screamed so loud in this manor that the parlor was shook.

All the nobles had deserted, leaving Kroug. He had no support and was left with two choices: deal with it or try another coup. The baron sighed.

"Dammit, I'll just go with it," was his last words and the noble life went back to normal.

And the sad part was, Drake never intervened with the feudal ways, but these failed attacks on the monarch crumbled the feudalism, leaving knights to work for the government, and nobles to gain small control over cities. Many times, six to seven nobles would have influence in just one city! The complete idioicy of the Serdian Nobles were shown in the first three months of Drake's rule.