Libertatis Imperium (Gate)

[charclone]

"My prince," Bouro rasped from his hidden spot amongst the bushes. "I have… concerns regarding your brother's sincerity."

"Oh? You think my brother is a schemer?" Zorzal laughed, uncaring if he was overheard, sitting 'alone' in his palace garden. "Next I suppose you shall tell me you fear that water is wet, or that a Ma Nuga takes a shit?"

Bouro sighed. The idiot was pliable, but he didn't pretend to be the fool he was beneath his muscled exterior around those he trusted. Unfortunately, counter to Bouro's goals, that trust extended to Diabo.

"No, Your Highness, I am referring to his deal with you," Bouro carefully maintained a respectful tone, yet kept a measure of concern laced in. "I have noted that he has been… crafting favourable deals, yet he has been excluding you from them, nor mentioning them to you, while at the same time, positioning them so that it would be… simple for the emperor to enact them. I fear he intends to supplant you to keep them."

"Or use me to fulfil them, keeping to his word," Zorzal pointed out, making Bouro mentally curse. "Whatever. Tell me about them later. My father has, to my surprise, invited Diabo and I to a meal. Without Pina, who he sent off to Alnus. Something about slaves. Whatever the reason, I should head over now."

The prince gave a brief laugh.

"Hah!" He grinned as he stood. "Perhaps my father has changed his mind about Pina, or her crusade against corruption angered him somehow?"

With an uncaring shrug, Zorzal cheerfully walked off without a further word.

Bouro ground his teeth.

Pliable Zorzal might be, but he was too wilful now that Tyuule was no longer whispering in his ear, feeding him lies to bolster his ego. Not to mention his arrogance and temper made him prickly to manoeuvre into place.

With a sigh of weariness, Bouro decided to make it a priority to find some whore for Zorzal to knock up. Who, it didn't matter anymore. Just so long as an heir was produced. Once that was done, Zorzal could be discarded, and Bouro's puppet-emperor could be raised heeding the whispers from the shadows until all the nobility were brought into the Haryo through blood. Then, a Haryo bride for the emperor to tie his bloodline in, assuming the child's mother isn't a Haryo, and they would have their rightful place atop all the other creatures of this world. Undisputed masters, as they should be, superior even to the other chimeras.

---

Molt greeted his sons as they entered the hall. It was one of the smaller dining halls, meant for the Imperial family to share meals in. In the past, it had been used constantly, for every meal as the Imperial family of that time had been close. Molt himself remembered when his family had shared their meals before they grew up.

Silently, he regretted that it hadn't been possible to keep the family together, but the Empire demanded service to keep it together, so he was forced to journey elsewhere far too often. It would have been cruel to force Pina's mother to endure being around the boys without him, they were not her children, nor did they like her, so Pina and her mother had spent their time at the Jade Palace, while Diabo and Zorzal spent their time at their own estates.

He wondered how things might have been if they had been of a lower station, without the calling of stately affairs to distract them from their family.

Molt dismissed the idle thoughts as he sat down. Diabo on his right, Zorzal on his left. A faint flicker of some unreadable emotion flew across Zorzal's face as he noted Diabo's placement. Doubt, perhaps?

As they sat down, servants brought out the first course. Perhaps it would have been better to talk first, but Zorzal's mood always improved when he had food in his hands. Diabo was politically savvy enough to catch this, so Molt felt that he would not be slighted.

Zorzal, with a second helping of bread and meat in his hand, was the first to start talking much to Molt's surprise.

"So, what is this about father?" He took a bite before continuing. "Pina is off at Alnus for some reason, and you decide to invite us to a meeting?"

"I should have expected you would have no interest in playing games," Molt chuckled to himself. To buy himself time to compose his response, he took another helping of food. After he took a bite, he chewed and swallowed it, giving himself a moment to enjoy the spiced meat. "You are correct in assuming that this is not, as much as I might which it to be possible, a simple family gathering. The both of you have been trying to gather support to put Zorzal on the throne, correct?"

He shifted his gaze from one son, then to the other.

Diabo swallowed the last of his first course, leaning back to wait for the servants to bring out the next course.

"One might perceive it as you changing which of us you prefer as heir," Diabo said. He frowned as Zorzal snatched a glass from the servant as they brought out the wine. He waited until Zorzal finished pouring himself the wine, before continuing. "But that isn't the case, is it? No, I suspect you want us to stop."

"Not quite," Molt picked up his glass as the servant finished pouring it. "Rather, I am disappointed in how you are going about it and wish to inform you that if you intend to actually be considered potential heirs, you need to improve. So far, you have displayed none of the qualities necessary to rule. You have cut deals, sold power to acquire more, traded favours, and whipped up support. How does any of that solve the issues of the Empire?"

As he spoke, Molt's voice hardened, raising in volume, but not quite reaching a yell. He gave a weary sigh.

"The empire faces a foe unlike it has ever seen and we have not enough information about it," The emperor said, taking a sip of wine to settle himself. "Not to mention the unrest from losing large numbers of agricultural slaves, revolts in the Warrior Bunny homeland and piracy in the south being on the rise. And what have either of you two done about it?"

Diabo held his tongue. His face betrayed his emotions, but he remained silent, at least trying to appear as if he were thinking.

Zorzal didn't even bother using the meat between his ears.

"And what has Pina done?" He demanded, his tone belligerent. "I've been rallying the people, reminding them of the greatness of the empire, of how we have faced hard times before and come out stronger!"

"Words mean little compared to action," Molt retorted. "Pina has been acting as a negotiator, mediator, and point of contact. She understands NATO better than us. More, she is learning. She is also committed to the Empire over her own benefit. While not conducive to her long-term health, it speaks well of what she would do as Empress."

Molt leaned back in his chair, taking a few bites of the second course before resuming.

"I am not angry. I am not going to disinherit my own sons," Molt said, relaxing and taking another sip of the wine. "I am just disappointed. So I am just going to say this final note; Pina asks for my advice and help. If I have given my implication that I will withhold it from you, then it was in error."

Diabo frowned and picked at his food for several moments before he resumed eating.

Zorzal just huffed, quaffed his wine, ordered more from a servant, and then began to stuff food down his gullet.

Molt gave a disappointed sigh.

By the time the third and final course was brought out and placed on the table, a disquiet mood had settled in the room, keeping anyone from speaking to each other. Zorzal gave shooting glares from the corner of his eyes at Molt as he shovelled food into his mouth, while Diabo gave him an exasperated look.

A pit formed in Molt's stomach.

The moment the meal finished; Diabo made polite excuses before he left. Zorzal didn't bother saying a word.

Molt sighed in defeat. His sons were stubborn, it would seem. If they refused to adapt to the differences between the requirements of a prince and an emperor, despite his attempts to train them with responsibilities, it would not end well for the empire.

As he stood, something hit the ground outside the room in the hall with a meaty thud. Molt heard Diabo cry Zorzal's name, but he had no time to process this fact as a sudden agony exploded in his gut.

His insides felt like they were ablaze. He stumbled in shock, leaning against the table for support.

His eyes, as his guards rushed to help him, fell upon the cups they had drunk from, remembering the servant. He had paid it no mind at the time, as he never bothered to memorise every face in the palace, there were too many, but something about them had seemed off. Unfamiliar.

He suddenly coughed, feeling a coppery wetness in his mouth.

"Get me a scribe," He rasped as he felt the fast-acting poison burn his insides, ignoring the guards calling for a doctor. "Now!"

 

[stephen the barbarian]

2 out 3 or a full sweep?

 

[charclone]

2 out 3 or a full sweep?

Zorzal and Molt have both been poisoned. Diabo escaped by chance and luck.

 

[ATP]

Zorzal and Molt have both been poisoned. Diabo escaped by chance and luck.

Thanks,but who did it? Bouro need Zorzal alive,right?
And could not be Diablo,if he escaped it by chance.

Well,maybe some unknown party - or Bouro decided to poison everybody and save Zorzal then?

 

[charclone]

"Princes Pina," Richard greeted, his smile only slightly strained as he held the car door open for her. "I hope things have been well?"

"As can be," Pina sniffed, stepping inside the vehicle, Richard following her. "I trust these people will be cared for?"

Richard gave her a nod as he sat next to her, peering out the window of the door as the car drove off. Outside, the people Pina had brought, alongside herself and her bodyguard of knights, were led from the transport helicopter that had carried them from the Imperial capital. The way that some of the rescued slaves needed to be carried by their fellows and medics made him wince.

"We'll get them settled," He said, uncomfortable sitting next to the Imperial princess. Logically, he understood that she was responsible for freeing those people, but that didn't shake the feeling that it had been her nation's laws that had enslaved them. That feeling brought to mind a memory. "… Your father, at the party several months ago… he recommended we talk."

Pina gave him a confused look.

"About what?" She asked. Deliberately, she did not gaze in his direction, watching the scenery as the car left the airfield towards the HQ of the NATO base at Alnus.

"… We are going to be neighbours. I am confirmed to be the local lord of Alnus, as you know, and even if you do not become empress, you will likely remain as ambassador," Richard explained. He would not admit to being uncomfortable speaking to her, but there was a question he felt should be asked. "I have felt that you… do not like me. Why?"

Pina turned her head to face him. Expressions of confusion, anger, surprise, and suspicion warred across it, her brow furrowing.

"Do you remember the siege of Italica?" Pina said after several moments, a frown etched into her face.

"Yes," Richard admitted. "First large battle I have any clear memory of. Honestly, right afterwards, I was worried you were going to try to rope me into some political plot."

He gave a sad, tired laugh.

"Politics were never my interest," He said with a sigh. "But events have dragged me into them."

Pina peered at him with suspicion, a flicker of annoyance behind her eyes. Then they widened as she blinked, realising he was speaking the truth.

"That speech you made, that rallied the defenders…" Pina pinched the bridge of her nose. "You spoke up when I faltered. The Italicans rallied around you, rather than me. It… was a blow to my pride. I'd been building up my Order of the Rose for years. I thought I was prepared for something like that. Instead… you threw the truth into my face. After that, I… incorrectly assumed you were like my brother, bull-headed and seeking glory."

Richard laughed.

"And your father probably realised that," He leaned back against the seat. "Well, at least that is cleared up."

Pina snorted and shook her head.

"What made you think I was going to drag you into politics?" She asked, giving him a questioning look. "I'm not involved… I wasn't involved in politics until recently."

"Ah, well… as you know I'm a scholar," Richard replied, embarrassed and his ears turning red. "Well… the main focus of my study was warfare. But a secondary focus was on the Byzantine Empire, or Eastern Roman Empire as they called themselves. Their politics were… complex, and I assumed, due to some of the iconography I had seen amongst Saderan soldiers, that your culture drew from the Byzantines. Your title, for instance, porphyrogenite, literally means 'born in the purple', though with a feminine denotation, and referred to children of the Byzantine Emperor, born after he took the throne."

"That is actually correct," Pina said, thoughtfully. "The title is ancient, and while I didn't know its meaning, I do know that it was only given to the female children of Emperors born, as you said, after they ascended to the throne."

"Maybe there were some Byzantines who carried the tradition through the Gate," Richard questioned, before shrugged. "But anyway, we're here."

The car pulled to a stop outside the squat building used by NATO for meetings. Despite the deceptively simple exterior, its interior was well furnished for diplomats.

As the two exited the vehicle, a guard holding the door open for Pina, Richard caught a figure running towards them, dressed in the surplus military fatigues used by the Long Patrol.

"It would seem something has come up," Richard called around the vehicle to Pina. "Hopefully they don't mind me missing this meeting. I wonder why they didn't just call?"

Pina gave a half-hearted, jealous protest, before she entered the building, escorted by the same guard.

Richard sighed as he noted the figure's appearance, recognising the individual.

His face turned pale when the Dar explained why his message couldn't have been transmitted.

---

"Princess," A general Pina didn't recognise, wearing a uniform that was both similar and different from the American one, said in English with a foreign accent as she took an offered, cushioned seat across from him.

"Princess Pina, this is General Lafont. He is my French counterpart," General Jameson said. "The governments of NATO are… alarmed by the current state of the Saderan Empire. While we understand the war has caused disruptions, there are some voices who are raising the issue that it may not stabilise swiftly."

Pina frowned at the blatant power display.

"Generals," She deliberately greeted, before responding to Jameson's provocation. "My father is working with the senate to stabilise things, however, the massive exodus of slaves has damaged the Empire's economy. Not permanently, and with trade we can compensate, however, the fact of the matter is that communication is slow in the Empire. We do not have the… technologies that your people do. Thus, waves of chaos will reverberate for at least a few more months, perhaps a year, before things begin to change."

"The ship of state is slow to change course," General Jameson nodded agreeably. "Very well, I will keep my superiors informed. Now… where is Richard? He was with you at the airfield, yes?"

"A runner caught his attention with a message," Pina replied evenly. "He should be along shortly."

Lefont rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath in a language Pina didn't understand. He winced when Jameson gave him a look.

"You will have to forgive my colleague, he is new to his post and rank," Jameson said, making the other general's jaw clench.

Richard stepped in that moment, cutting off any comment the French general might have said.

"General…s? Ah, Samuel, can I have a word?" Richard asked, pale.

Pina stared at Lefont, who stared back indifferently, as the two talked outside of the room. She faintly caught the American curse through the door before silence reigned for several longer moments.

When General Jameson returned, he was alone; the sound of Richard's booted feet sounding a jog signalling his rush out of the building.

"My apologies, something has come up," Jameson said. "Richard will not be joining us, so I suppose we will shift the topic. So, princess, there are several organisations that are seeking permission to enter the Saderan Empire. Non-government organisations, such as the Red Cross; charities in short. Before we go seeking permission to let them in, I would like to brief you on what they are and some of their history, so that you are able to inform your father properly, letting him make an informed decision."

An officer burst in before she could reply. The officer whispered into Jameson's ear, and Lefont's eyebrows rose as Jameson's face fell.

Ashen, he looked at Pina.

"My apologies, your highness. We will need to reschedule," He said, mournfully. "We just received word that your father has fallen ill and has requested your presence in Sadera immediately."

---

The guards, both Warrior Bunnies, nodded to Tara as she entered the meeting hall.

Once again, it was filled with the sounds of her people's so-called leaders arguing pointlessly, arguing over semantics. Voices raised, bickering over minutia, irrelevant details, or simply shouting to be heard.

Unlike all the previous times, however, Tara was not alone, nor was she without a plan.

She took a deep breath.

Beside her, her sister gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, a fragile smile on Tyuule's face.

With a confidence that she did not feel, Tara let her small party into the arena of politics. Behind them, Hannah carried the 'Napoleonic Eagle', hidden by a simple cloth, to be displayed at a suitably dramatic time.

Tara clenched her fists to keep them from shaking. She opened her mouth to call for everyone's attention, to bring the idea to the table.

The doors were flung open, having been closed behind Tara's party. Radya marched in with a stormy look, shooting a glare at Tara, before sending a murderous look at Tyuule. Everyone's eyes turned towards the dramatic entrance, a fact that Radya seemed to enjoy, as she strode in, accompanied by several other Warrior Bunnies. Dressed in a rough approximation of war regalia, a rather dramatic statement on its own with how improper it was for a meeting of clans and tribes.

"There is a matter of great urgency I must put forward!" Radya declared. "First, in spite of the fact that I have a pureblood to put on our throne, Tara is intent on putting us once more into chains, this time under her lover!"

"I wouldn't mind that," Someone in the back snarked.

Radya snarled.

"Secondly is the fact that the traitor Tyuule is standing here today, not in chains, but as if she was still our queen!" Radya howled. "There must be justice for what she did! Living in luxury whilst out people were enslaved!"

"Tyuule's situation is a matter of debate," Madira shouted back. "Besides, look at her scars! Those aren't lover's marks, more like the bites of a wild animal. I for one believe her story."

Some present booed her, while others cheered. Most simply stayed silent, watching.

"On top of that," Madira looked at Tara. "A kingdom by Richard would, through Tara, have our blood ruling it. A new line of royalty, for a new kingdom, safeguarding our people. I would accept that."

Far more cheered at this statement.

Radya's scowl deepened.

"Will none of you see the danger!?" She demanded. "What of our traditions!? What of our lands, controlled by the Empire!? What of our slaughtered kin who lie, unburied in ditches for the carrion, massacred by Zorzal!?"

She suddenly fell silent as mutters filled the room.

"If this council cannot be brought to see reason through truth," Radya hissed through bared teeth, a flicker of madness and desperation in her eyes, haunted by old pains, and fed by ambition. "Then force will work in its stead."

At her signal, the women of Radya's party drew their hidden blades from beneath their armour or hidden between layers of hide and fabric. The two guards at the door died swiftly from the unexpected attack.

"I proposition this council to make my claimant acknowledged and vote her ascension to the throne!" Radya declared as more of her followers rushed in from the open doors.

 

[1stSergeant MagicalGeek]

Right a coup, in the middle of a NATO Base...

 

[The Whispering Monk]

Right a coup, in the middle of a NATO Base...

What could possibly go wrong?

 

[charclone]

Right a coup, in the middle of a NATO Base...

Well, right next to one. Within mortar distance.

 

[ATP]

Right a coup, in the middle of a NATO Base...

Yes,it is funny - Radya must lost,only question is how many would die with her.

What could possibly go wrong?

Everything - but,if she is tool of Bouro,then it do not matter.All he need is distraction,not Radya success,after all.

Well, right next to one. Within mortar distance.

Do not matter,Radya would die.But - Tara and others could die,too.I hope,that she have some hidden revolver with her!.

 

[charclone]

A.N. Oops, meant to post this earlier. I focused on HI until the current arc was completed. It is now on pause until the current arc is completed, which will be when the Saderan Civil War begins.

Anyway, I'll slowly be posting the backlog until then.

---

The officer overseeing the Long Patrol 'armoury', a former Orc mercenary who had signed on with the Long Patrol in the hopes of a secure and stable future for himself and his family, jerked in his seat as the door was thrown open.

He relaxed a moment later when he recognised the form of Lord Richard. This human was politer than the Saderans were, and not only paid better and on time, but the 'healthcare' NATO helped provided made the Orc wish he could have signed up with Richard's people years ago. The ease lasted only a heartbeat before the orc recognised the look on his liege's face.

"How many of our people are here?" The young lord demanded, fear buried under his hard tone.

"Uh," The Orc stumbled over his words. "Maybe… three others? No."

The Orc cleared his throat.

"Two others, corporals Rasha and Tullus. A NATO soldier is present as well, he was helping unload some ammunition and checking the facility," He reported, his tone ringing clear and professional. He had been made some sort of supply officer, titled a 'supply sergeant', so he intended to act like it. Even if he still didn't fully understand why he was called a 'non-commissioned' officer. "What do you need, my lord?"

"Send the two corporals to me, get the rifles ready for use… no," Richard shook his head. "The ammunition… it is replacing the ammo taken by a training patrol, right? Off at the range?"

"Yessir."

"Okay, send the NATO soldier to me, and send the two corporals off to rouse a patrol. One to the barracks, the other to the firing range," Richard said. The Orc could smell the thick scent of sweat pouring off him. With the worry in his tone, buried as it was beneath forced professionalism, it painted a picture of something going wrong. And when things went wrong for nobles, in the Orc's experience, blood tended to flow. "I want as many of the Long Patrol we can get on short notice. Don't tell them why. And I want them armed."

The Orc nodded, relaxing slightly. Time enough for planning then, not panicked action. The latter rarely ended well.

"As you command," The Orc didn't waste time with more platitudes and bellowed around the corner for the corporals.

Within two minutes, a force from the barracks was rapidly checking their weapons, loading their gear, and looking around confused. The NATO soldier, off in a corner of the building's small office, shared a brief discussion with Lord Richard. With a grim nod, he joined in with the Orc, partitioning out ammunition.

"Reporting as ordered!" A Warrior Bunny, in the green cloth handed out to the Long Patrol as their Battle Dress Uniform, saluted Richard, leading the patrol back in. "We were only halfway to the training field… firing range when the runner met us."

Richard was silent for a moment. The Orc frowned with worry as he handed a half-loaded magazine to a Long Patrol soldier, who would finish loading it, and noted the look of mistrust and suspicion that flickered across Richard's face before it vanished as the human noble nodded.

"Good," He said before taking a deep breath. "There is no time for any speeches, so I will just as this. Are you with me?"

"To Hardy's Gates," The Warrior Bunny replied. "You and Queen Tara both."

One Long Patrol soldier, a Dark Elf, gave a confirming cheer, before fumbling the magazine she was loading, sending rounds skittering across the floor as the magazine landed. Another soldier ignored the mess, adding their own voice of loyalty.

The Orc winced as the rounds rolled around on the floor. He kept silent, but mentally added his own voice to theirs. Richard had earned his loyalty, like he had the Warrior Bunnies and other peoples, through fair dealings, generous terms, and a secure future. The Dark Elf was a surprise, but she seemed willing to work, with more will than most, even if she was accident prone.

"We're with you, sire," Another declared over the rising cheers, kneeling to pick up scattered bullets. "What do you need?"

"Clan Leader Radya is launching a coup," Richard stated bluntly. "We are to surround the meeting hall and arrest her."

The Orc nearly fumbled his own magazine, clenching it tight before it dropped onto the table.

"That ill-bred, stuffed…" The Warrior Bunny's words devolved into a mix of curses across several languages, all fouler than the last, before finally sticking to a language the Orc didn't recognise.

The room was silent, aside from the cursing Warrior Bunny.

"If she resists?" Someone asked.

"Priority is ensuring the rest of the council is unharmed and out of her reach," Richard replied, his voice quiet and low. "But don't throw your life away to capture that wretch alive."

Someone ratcheted their weapon and more than a few cruel grins spread across the faces of the assembled soldiers. A sergeant gave the moron with the gun a withering glare.

The Orc just shook his head at power-hungry idiots poking a ravenous dragon. He gave a wry glance as he saw the NATO soldier wearing a similar expression to his own.

---

Aboard a helicopter, Pina clenched her fists in front of her chest, paying to the Gods that her father would survive. NATO had, without being asked nor offered compensation, rushed to ready transport for her, and a small force of her knights, to take her back to the Capital.

Her mind was a storm of conflicting emotions and worry. Paranoia crashed against her logic and rational mind.

There had been no mention of her brothers in the message. Just that her father had been poisoned and required her presence. It might have been a ploy by NATO, and her father was fine. But they had acted too honest and open about things for Pina to doubt them like that.

Alternatively, she feared that her actions against the nobility might have triggered this. That some foolish noble had tried their luck in a vain attempt to escape justice and gotten lucky.

There was too much she didn't know, and too little that she did.

Worse, NATO personnel had seemed tense as she left, and she doubted the Empire breaking the treaty would make NATO sweat. Something else was at play. An unknown actor, acting against the both of them?

The possibilities were endless. Pina knew she was working herself into a frenzy with worry. That she would likely know when she landed. But that didn't stop the churning of her gut, nor the pit eating its way down from it.

---

The moment Radya made her declaration, the assembly broke into chaos. Some rushed the exit and were blocked bodily by Radya's followers, while others were simply warded away by the brandished weapons.

Some, braver than the rest, brandished their own weapons in defiance, whilst a few unarmed grabbed whatever they could find to hand.

Tara simply glared back, making no attempt to reach for the blade at her side.

Radya frowned at the displays of defiance. It was foolish of them, in her mind, that they would rather defy her than submit. She wasn't even asking all that much of them!

A slow cold crept up her spine at the thought that she would be forced to shed blood here. It was not a cold of fear, but a numb acceptance of necessity.

"Where was this defiance when our people were raped and butchered?" She cajoled and mocked, heedless of the weapons. "Where was this fire and fury, when our sisters and brother, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons were cast into chains and the corpse-piles by Saderan hands? Our people need a leader, one that will not bow down to some foreign power."

"It was always there, you blind fool!" Someone yelled back. "We damn near fought to the death! Now you spit on that, and the sacrifices made, just to play the same sorts of games the Saderans do!"

Radya seethed, her teeth bared, in response to the comparison. Her heart beat a battle's call.

"Do you honestly want this to become a bloodbath!?" She demanded. Her next words were cut off by a large, black halberd landing on one of her lieutenants, splitting the woman's skull in twain.

"I wouldn't mind it, if the blood was yours," Cooed the demigod of Emroy as she dropped from the rafters. The childlike monster pulled her weapon from the corpse. "Though, I'm afraid your souls wouldn't go to Emroy. Those who break oaths and covenants are taken to be punished by Deldort."

Giselle gently floated down from the rafter a moment later.

Radya saw her plans fall apart in an instant. The cold in her spine turning to icy fear. Her followers would be chaff before two demigods. Outside, the roar of a dragon made every mortal present flinch, then it was followed by a second, and accompanied by the shouts of familiar voices.

Radya, in one desperate gamble, threw her arms wide.

"You see now! NATO knew my plans and has now orchestrated a coup!" She declared. "Even corrupting the messengers of the gods!"

Radya grinned, even as she felt ice sweat trickle down her back, as she saw Tara's face harden.

The room fell silent as the younger woman looked around the room. Tyuule stood, whispering something into her sister's ear, before sitting back down. Radya internally scoffed at the sight of the disgraced traitor, being permitted entry to this meeting hall.

Tara took a deep breath, then took the Eagle from Hannah. Unwrapping the cloth, she held it up to let all present see it.

"This is the standard of an empire," She declared, her voice strong and raised. "Inspired by the Saderan's ancestors from beyond the Gate, but those people fought against them, taking their emblems as their own. The empire that used this fell, its single Emperor dying in exile. But it was an empire that had been forged in the face of defeat, of chaos that saw blood flow like rivers in the nation's capital."

A hand on her shoulder, clad in blue scales, kept Radya from interrupting her.

"That empire is still remembered, its people survived, to form a new nation, another empire. Now, their children stand with NATO, as one of its strongest members, alongside its former enemies, that had destroyed the first empire," Tara watched the faces of the other clan leaders. Some looked confused. Others scared. "Our people are dying. Our cities had blood flow in the streets. Thus, contrary to Elder Radya's claims, I propose a new nation. An empire. Not under NATO but allied to it. The Saderans think us beaten and broken. We will instead grow stronger and prove them wrong, in war or peace."

"What of Richard?" Someone asked.

Once more, Radya scoffed. She could never understand the fools that chose one mate and kept them. It was both selfish and short sighted, limiting one's offspring in such a way. Radya herself had taken several to bed, most captured in raids plus the occasional willing merchant, which meant her children, had they not disappeared after Zorzal's rampage, would have been varied in their strengths, some faster, some more cunning, others better at hunting whilst their siblings were better fighters.

"I love him," Tara stated clearly, then wavered. "I will not leave him… but if this body decides that I am to be our people's ruler, despite my lack of pure descent, then our lands will be bound through marriage. Our Dynasty as one, but not subservient to the other."

Many amongst the crowd, a few of Radya's own warriors even, much to her displeasure, gave nods of approval or understanding.

"Our laws say that the Queen must be of pure descent," Madira gleefully pointed out. "Well, then I guess we will not have a queen anymore, but an Empress. Anyone disagree?"

"And what of the traitor Tyuule!?" Radya spat, then winced as Giselle's hand tightened on her shoulder.

"You call me a traitor?" Tyuule said, standing from where she had been seated. "I was a fool, yes… and I am a failure as a queen. I do not contest that. But I am no traitor. I did not threaten the leaders of the clans with violence if they did not comply with my demands. You, on the other hand, have made a complete mockery of our peoples' laws and traditions, which you claim to act to defend."

Heads turned when a yell sounded from outside. It was ended by the barking of gunfire.

Moments later, Richard strode in, his black blade in one hand. Beside him, with rifles raised, came Long Patrol warriors.

Madira laughed.

"And that is the death of your coup, Radya," She grinned at the fuming woman. "And the start of our peoples' new nation, and the start of our new Empress' reign. Do I hear any protest?"

"Just because it can't be unanimous!" Someone called from the back of the room.

The cheers nearly drowned them out. It was far from unanimous, but when the leaders present were back in their seats and their votes counted, Tara was Empress.

---

The minutia took hours, as they argued over the rules of the new nation, what laws to carry over, what to change, what to drop. Arguments were born over the land, of the details of Tara's union with Richard, and of the succession.

Richard, once Radya's people were carried off by a mix of the Long Patrol, a ceremonial guard from the various tribes, and NATO MPs, sat against the outside wall of the meeting hall. The weight of the situation fell off of him and left him feeling lightheaded.

Part of him was embarrassed at the comparative overreaction, but he was cognizant enough to recognise that it could have very well have been necessary, had the demigods not stepped in.

Next to him, the sword in its sheath lay against the wall.

Only one person had died, though many more were injured. Radya's followers had actually tried to fight the dragons and been maimed for their efforts; suffering burns and shattered bones. A single person had been shot when they tried to charge the Long Patrol, charging them upon seeing them coming down the road. With luck, they might survive the gut shot.

The crowds were kept away by the remaining Long Patrol soldiers, forming an armed barrier against any that attempted to push past, though the crowds had only lasted an hour after the fighting stopped.

When he had asked the soldiers if they would follow him, Richard would privately admit that he had been terrified. He had no idea if they would actually follow him into battle, especially the Warrior Bunnies, given they still didn't know if they had caught all of Radya's supporters.

Tara sat down next to him.

"Well… it's done," She said, leaning against her lover. "Radya scared them into opposing her. And the demigods supporting you… us."

"Congratulations, your Imperial Majesty," Richard gave her a tired, teasing smile.

"And we didn't even need to launch a coup," Tara snorted. "My sister is still inside, talking with the others. We aren't done with all the details, but… when the spring comes, I will be crowned."

She kissed his cheek.

"And you will be next to me, Lord of Alnus."

"Don't," Richard groaned, even as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm still getting far too many 'Lord Alnus' jokes."

"I'm not certain I get the joke," Tara admitted.

"Homophone joke," Richard sighed. "Alnus and anus sound similar."

Tara snorted.

"It's not funny."

"It is, a little," Tara admitted. "But they will get tired of it, eventually. So… the meeting is done for the day… what do you want to do now?"

"Sleep," Richard groaned. "Now that there is no danger, I feel very, very tired. But I have to write a bunch of reports now. Account for the expended ammunition, the time, the public disruption."

"Good thing I don't have to do any of that," Tara said, her tone teasing. She held the silence for a moment, before continuing. "So that leaves me free to help."

"Thank you," Richard sighed. "Oh, and I missed a meeting with Pina, so I am probably going to have to meet her tomorrow."

"I… can't be there for that," Tara winced. "We need to formalise a council of tribal leaders, and that could last all day."

"You'll be there in spirit, I'm sure," Richard snorted. "Well, those reports aren't going to write themselves."

 

[ATP]

And that is how Richard become remembered for ages as LORD ANUS .
Happy End.

 

[charclone]

Pina's heart was in her throat as she rushed down the halls. In her wake, the Praetorian Guard and her knights tried to keep up. She passed through ancient halls she had once played in, moving down the sunlit corridors of the Imperial Palace.

Despite the brilliant light outside, it seemed as dim as a new moon's night to Pina's eyes. Her skin felt cold and dead despite the sun's radiant warmth.

When a guard stepped forward to stop her, she only just barely caught herself from shoving him aside. Her heart thundered, loud enough to drown out the other guard at her father's door as they knocked and announced her presence.

Blood thundered in her ears like a battle clamour as she was permitted entrance.

Her father stared at her from where he lay, his eyes unfocused and his face twisted in pain.

His lips parted as he tried to speak, emitting only a croaking noise, and earning a flinch of pain for his efforts. After a moment to breathe, he raised a shaking arm, beckoning her closer.

"Father…" Her breath caught in her throat. She knelt at his bedside.

She had last seen him less than a day ago before she departed to Alnus.

Molt Sol Augustus had not been a young man, but he had not looked old. His face, weathered by the campaigns of his youth, had enhanced the look of vigour he used to wear. Now, his eyes seemed to have shrunk back into his head, muscles would tight almost preventing his lips from closing, and neither of his eyes seemed to focus clearly on her.

It was a stark contrast to the man who had helped her learn how to ride, who would set aside ruling an empire for a few minutes to listen to his daughter talk about her time at the knight academy she had joined. Who had wrapped her in his arms and wept with her, after her mother had died.

It strained Pina's sense of belief that her father had been so quickly reduced to this.

"Listen," He demanded, his voice rasping and heavily laced with pain. "Pina, my beautiful daughter, you must listen. I don't know how long I have, but I can feel it eating through my stomach."

"Father, NATO-" Pina began before he cut her off.

"No, no. Perhaps they might save me, but it would make things worse," Molt denied her. "I will die. How soon, I do not know. But you must listen. Zorzal was poisoned, worse than I. I had at first thought it was Diabo, but he is acting an emotional fool. That broadens the potential perpetrators greatly. So, you must be ready for their next act."

"Father," Pina's hand found his, as her eyes burned. "I… I'm not… I…"

She choked.

"What… about Zorzal? What happened to him?"

"In a coma," Molt sighed. "From what I have heard, he has been writhing in agony ever since."

He tightened his grip on her hand.

"Pina, you must listen, my servants have betrayed me," Molt continued. "This may very well devolve into a civil war. After confirming my condition and survival, you will go back to Alnus, and perhaps visit Italica. Spend the winter building your strength."

"Father? I… a civil war?" Pina mentally fumbled, the idea of a civil war unfathomable to her. The idea of the Empire, always so rigid and secure, suddenly ripping itself apart almost seemed irrational, even with her brothers' actions in the recent months.

"I have made arrangements for you. I ordered legions I trust to be sent to the NATO border," Her father continued, ignoring her interruption. "The most likely culprits are the Senatoria and perhaps the Equestria familias. I wish I knew more, but… You must go. Take your knights, too. If the empire is to survive, it needs a ruler that can bring the senate to heel."

"Father…" Pina bit her lip. A storm of emotions churned in her gut. Sorrow and terror made battle in her stomach to stab at her heart. "Why me?"

"Because Diabo is a gods damned fool," Molt sighed. He motioned towards a pitcher of water. Pina reacted faster than any of the guards.

As she poured the water into a glass cup, she found her hands steadier than her heart, which seemed to rattle in her ribcage.

After taking a sip, he rasped out a thanks to her, before continuing.

"He has cut deals with the senate, deals that could very well be used against him. But you? You are not the pig-headed idiot Zorzal is, and you are here. Everyone must eventually deal with the consequences of their actions. You? Your actions have been to act in a just manner, to uphold justice. You have made enemies, but they are the ones in the wrong, who the gods will punish. Be aware of your actions and their consequences."

Molt sighed, leaning back into his pillow.

"I have sent a runner with my journals, and several letters, to Italica to meet you. I hope you can learn from the mistakes of a foolish old man," He gasped in pain, taking several moments to recover, before he continued to speak. "Go. Be careful in your dealings with NATO… I hope that you will not need them, but if they truly want a stable Empire… then use that to your advantage. Go, my daughter, and be safe."

His grip tightened on her hand as he took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, my beautiful, darling daughter," He pushed himself. "I'm sorry that I failed to better prepare you. I am doing everything I can, as my strength fades, but I know it isn't enough, not as your emperor, and certainly not as your father. Now, go, please. Before something else happens, go."

The sight of the tears swelling in her father's eyes matched the burning sensation in her own.

She couldn't bring herself to say something, anything at all. Her throat burned. When one of the guards touched her shoulder to guide her out, she gave a wordless cry, pushing their guiding hand away.

"Please, my daughter, be strong," Molt released her hand, raising his own to brush at her tears, though he missed them, his eyesight poor and failing. "Now go. Please."

Pina swallowed painfully.

She stood, her face settling into a stony mask. Without another word, she turned, unable to bear looking at her father, fearing what she might do if she did, what might happen. One painful step became another, then another.

Eventually, she found herself outside, in the halls once more. Duty and agony both weighed on her.

"Bozes, Hamilton… send word to our knights in the city. We…" Pina licked her lips, her voice wavering. "We head to Italica, at the emperor's order."

---

Zorzal burned.

He couldn't remember why, or where he was. The agonising pain consumed everything, reaching every point of his body. His vision was flashes of searing light and empty darkness.

Such was the agony that he had lost all sense of time and place, scoured away by the fire that filled his body.

He couldn't tell when he realised the burning had stopped, but things were still a searing bright white light that made the back of his eyes ache. Slowly, he forced his body to breathe, as his chest began to burn from lack of air. As his chest rose and fell, as he became aware of the movement, he found himself in his room, within his palace.

He could hear the distant chirpings of nightlife from the gardens. Yet, as Zorzal took in his surroundings, he noted the details in his surroundings were wrong. The decorations didn't quite match what he remembered. The sounds suggested it was nighttime. Out his windows, he could see the stars from the dark sky.

Yet, the sun shone brightly into his room, in defiance of the nighttime.

"Hail, mighty prince of the empire," A voice called from the light.

As Zorzal blinked in confusion, his mind still struggling to comprehend what was going on, a figure emerged from the rays of light, stepping into his room.

The armour that the man wore was in an ancient style, though familiar enough to Zorzal to recognise it as an early Saderan design. The metal was marked with images in gold of victories and conquests.

But the man's face, Zorzal struggled to describe it to himself. It was imperious, imposing, inspiring, and encouraging. All things a face could be… but they failed to describe the physical details in any manner. Yet, those were the only worlds Zorzal could summon with which to describe the face the man wore.

Zorzal tried to move, to speak and demand the individual's identity, stand, anything, but found he had nobody with which to move.

"Peace, Prince Zorzal," The figure said, raising a hand. "This is not a place for mortals. But the good of the Empire demanded we speak."

Zorzal was warry. True, the man had started by flattering him, something that his ego enjoyed, but Zorzal was not the fool. He played the part of the hedonistic fool because it made people underestimate him, and kept him safe from his father's wrath. But if this being truly was a god? It was naught but dross. Zorzal knew the stories of the gods.

"Your father lies dying, by the same hand that poisoned you," They continued, bearing an amused look. "The Empire is dying a slow death, her legions shattered and scattered by a new foe. It needs a new, stronger Emperor."

Zorzal found themselves agreeing with the stranger's analysis. The Empire was at its weakest and needed a strong ruler to correct it.

Their hand became a pointing finger.

"You, mighty prince, must become that Emperor," The figure declared. "So says I; Sol Augustus, ruler of all the sun touches, manifest in the empire that I proclaimed. And you shall be my champion in the mortal world. I declare you, through your blood linked to mine by your ancestors, demigod."

Zorzal floundered. He knew the tales of the first Emperor, who ruled for nearly a thousand years, before becoming a god. But there had been no temples built in his honour, no priesthood. The only signifiers of his existence were the legends of Sol's deeds in life, such as slaying an ancient dragon, founding the Empire, and the reigning emperor Sol as their dedicated god in their name and Augustus as their family name as recognition of their descent from Sol Augustus.

"You must take charge of the Empire, purge its corruption, and prepare," Sol said. "NATO does not follow the gods, but their power is great. Yet, it is not NATO you must defeat, but their pawns. If you are to win, you will need to be unchallenged in your rule."

Zorzal wanted to scoff. He rankled at the idea of not taking an enemy head-on. But… he had played the fool before. Bidding his time. If this wasn't some sort of fever dream, an illusion his mind conjured as he died to the poison, then perhaps patience would be the path to victory.

"But beware, there are those that would seek to make you a puppet. Now, arise, mighty prince, and take your birthright."

With a start, Zorzal awoke. He found his body shaking, lying in his bed. Sheets soaked in his own sweat.

Pushing himself up, a wet cloth fell from his brow.

He expected pain, the agony he had felt to return, or linger, or leave some sort of revenge. Yet there was nothing.

Perhaps, Zorzal mused in his mind as he got up, that the gods really have chosen me to rule the Empire.

He blinked water from his eyes, standing on unsteady legs. In a stumbling dash, he made his way over to a mirror, staring at his own reflection.

Confusion was set into his haggard features, face marred by a fading exhaustion that he did not feel.

Blinking, Zorzal tried to comprehend what he had just experienced.

Sol's words echoed in his mind.

Then, the god's declaration struck him. Zorzal, in an ecstatic frenzy, tore through his room, searching for a blade. The first one he found was a trophy, one of the blades Tyuule had laid at his feet when she surrendered herself to him in a pitiful attempt at sparing her people.

Taking it in his hand, he sliced his finger open. He flinched at the pain.

The wound oozed crimson blood, trailing down the digit towards his palm.

He felt a flicker of disappointment at the sight of the blood before he began to search for a cloth to bandage it.

Then the red liquid retreated back into his opened skin before the wound sealed itself before his eyes.

As he tested his healed hand, he heard a noise as someone entered his room.

He blinked in surprise when he saw the light they were carrying before they dropped it in shock.

"Prince Zorzal!?" Bouro sputtered. "You're awake? You're alive!"

It wasn't joy that Bouro expressed in his shout, nor was it shock. Rather it seemed to be relief.

"Obviously," Zorzal snorted, gesturing to the dropped candle. "Now, pick that up before you start a fire."

"Ah, forgive me, my prince, I forgot myself in joy at seeing you well," Bouro said. Zorzal didn't need to be as skilled at politics as Diabo to see through Bouro. The little snake had been wearing a mask and had forgotten it in his shock. Well, Zorzal would remember that. Still, Bouro had his uses. "May I enquire as to how?"

"The work of the gods," Zorzal replied. "Now, why don't you fill me in on what happened?"

---

A.N. I... seem to recall there used to be threadmarks... what happened? I don't even see the option.

 

[ATP]

So,gods are cunts.Notching new.

 

[1stSergeant MagicalGeek]

Missing Threadmark

 

[charclone]

Missing Threadmark

You'll note there are no threadmarks, something I remarked upon in the author's note.

According to LordSunhawk on Discord, there is a server issue they are fixing.

 

[1stSergeant MagicalGeek]

Ah... ok I understand

 

[charclone]

Ah... ok I understand

Aaaand... they are back. Threadmark applied.

 

[charclone]

A.N. Still have a backlog I keep forgetting to post.

---

There was a bone-weary exhaustion that had settled into Tara. She had known it was coming, having seen what rulership did to her sister, but that foresight did not diminish the effects.

To add to that, she also felt irritation. Radya's attempted coup had undermined most resistance against her coronation, such that there were no large political groups that stood against her, no power blocks that could stop it.

But there were smaller ones that could cause problems in other votes. At Tyuule's advice, Tara had sought out the leader of the largest, a former supporter of Radya who had refused to participate in the coup.

That woman was the current source of Tara's irritation.

"Why is it so difficult to accept the idea that NATO is going to keep its word?" Tara asked with a huff. "Look at what they have done already!? How they have released control of Alnus town to Richard and people from Falmart, like us."

"Alnus is not our home," The woman spat. "Our home is being defiled by the Saderans and their prince."

The Warrior Bunny sitting opposite Tara in the private section of the restaurant glared at her.

"How do we know that they are going to keep their word? They have made one of their own Lord of Alnus," She pointed out. "Yes, they are supporting you becoming Empress, but you are allied to them through Sir Richard."

"Does that matter? We are growing stronger, we are no longer at risk of losing ourselves," Tara argued. "And doesn't that support the idea that they will keep their word?"

The Warrior Bunny flinched.

"I… perhaps," She sighed. "I suppose I will have to wait and see. But what of the talk of doing away with the clans voting for the next queen… empress?"

Tara flinched in turn.

"After me, there won't be any pure bloods left," She pointed out. "With the new succession laws, we at least would not tear ourselves apart again."

The Warrior Bunny shook her head.

"I understand that," She said in reply. "What I want to understand is what is replacing it."

"Oh," Tara blinked. "Of course, my apologies. Primogeniture. The firstborn would become the ruler, regardless of gender, adjusted by a council of the tribes when there is uncertainty or issue."

"A bit too much like the Saderans," The Warrior Bunny said. "But, it seems to work for them. I won't support it, but I won't oppose it."

"Thank you," Tara nodded, relaxing slightly. "Now, about the rest of the issues?"

"I am willing to wait and see if NATO will keep its word… I suppose you and Sir Richard have at least earned that."

---

Tara flopped onto the couch, later that evening.

"Busy day?" Richard asked from where he was going over papers in the small kitchen.

"Yes," Tara groaned before reaching out her arms in his general direction. "Now come here, I need you."

"I wish I could," Richard replied with a snort. "I've got a meeting in half an hour with some politicians over arms purchases. The Long Patrol is buying artillery… and a whole lot more guns and uniforms."

Tara winced, pushing herself up to look at him over the back of the couch.

"Is an Imperial Civil War that likely?"

Richard sighed, his head slumping.

"Officially, no," He grunted. "Unofficially? We need to meet with Pina when she arrives at Italica, alongside two legions, her knights, a chunk of the Praetorians, and NATO's spooks think at least two more legions are going to side with her."

Tara blinked.

"That's… how many legions did NATO flatten?"

"Two, but both were oversized and were cobbled together into a new understrength one." Richard sighed. "That still leaves Zorzal with a lot more legions, even if they are more spread out, the bulk of his own are off in… uh."

The way that Richard suddenly hesitated made Tara wince.

"My people's homeland," She snorted. "On the upside, given he had two legions sitting there so long, there are probably more tribes that evaded the Saderans and are causing trouble."

Richard nodded.

"Possibly. There has been word of slave revolts," Richard hummed. "Actually… if we had to fight the Saderans, we don't have the troops to hold much land without the support of NATO. Plus, if we were supporting Pina, I doubt she would appreciate us engaging in scorched earth tactics."

"Right, so… you've got an idea?" Tara leaned onto the back of the couch.

"So, all those slave rebellions… if we had to, we could cripple the Empire by simply striking at their Legions, forcing them to battle, or bleeding them dry, by loosing freed slaves on nearby settlements and their former masters," Richard said. "Not an ideal strategy and we would be taking as many as would be willing to Alnus, but it would cause enough chaos to either kill them or force them to negotiate."

"It's cold, heartless, ruthless… but it might work," Richard continued. "But I'm… also not certain I could do it."

"Freeing all those people would help us and hurt the Empire, not to mention force them to move away from slavery even faster," Tara noted, agreeing. "But a lot of them would die attacking in mobs. Not to mention the starvation from the lost harvests, without the manpower to bring it in."

"Oh, I didn't even think of that," Richard winced. "I was thinking of all the direct casualties from the angry mobs and the legions putting down the slave revolts that didn't follow us."

"So, that's a plan, but not our first one," Tara sighed. "Okay, well, what about just supporting Pina?"

"What, acting as an auxiliary force?"

"Not that the other Warrior Bunnies would like it, but yes," Tara sighed. "Although, if Zorzal survives, and sides against Pina, then plenty would jump at the chance to kill him."

Richard snorted.

A knock at the door interrupted any further conversation.

Tara bounced up to answer it.

"My apologies if I am interrupting something," Tyuule said as she walked in. "But I was hoping to share a drink with you, to celebrate Zorzal's death."

"He's not dead yet," Richard replied. "At least from what I have been told."

"We were just talking about strategies to fight the Empire with," Tara said. "Both ideas aren't great."

"Well, maybe between the three of us, we can come up with something?" Tyuule said.

"Can't, I should probably leave now for that meeting," Richard sighed, stepping away from the kitchen table. "Don't drink too much you two."

Tyuule snorted.

"It might have been a few years since I have been able to drink any expensive drinks, but I can still handle a few glasses," The former queen retorted. "But I only have the one bottle, anyway."

"Right," Richard shook his head. "Well, I'm off."

After the door closed behind him, Tyuule glanced at her sister.

"Is he shy?"

"He doesn't drink alcohol," Tara giggled. "Now, what did you bring? I heard Zorzal is at least suffering from the poison, so we can drink to that, at least."

---

"Richard!" Major Johnston called out, jogging to catch up as Richard walked towards the base's exit, late that evening. "Haven't had a chance to talk in a while. How are you doing?"

Richard glanced over at the fellow Canadian as he caught up.

"Could be better, could be worse," He shrugged. "… that a new patch?"

"Yes, it is. Public freaked over the dragon attack, so an experimental anti-dragon unit was thrown together," Edgar sighed. "It's a joke. Better placed detection and some half-decent AA is enough to down them, but civilians don't know jack about military tactics. It just got lucky one time, due to the fog. No offence. Starting to look more like a soldier with the way you've been carrying yourself."

"None taken," Richard shook his head. "If you say so, I'll take your word for it. Actually… how would you use the Long Patrol against the Empire?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I was discussing with Tara our options," Richard replied. "Neither of the two ideas we came up with are ideal."

"War rarely has ideal options. But, thinking it over," Johnston hummed. "If it started tomorrow, I'd just focus on holding the border, while training up new units. Medieval armies can't march during winter, right? It's hard enough on us with modern logistics."

"They can, but the attrition would be nasty, and they'd have vulnerable supply chains," Richard replied. "It wouldn't be the smartest thing to do."

"Good, then I'd use the winter to build up," Edgar nodded. "Send scouts to identify targets, maybe use the two dragons you have hanging about to scout. Try to get some intel on where enemy leaders are."

"And then when spring comes, go for a decapitation strike," Richard nodded. "Okay, I see what you mean. Even if it doesn't end the war, it removes an enemy leader."

"Yup," Major Johnston nodded. "So, where are you walking to and from?"

"I just left a meeting over getting more weapons for the Long Patrol, some old surplus artillery from Canada," Richard explained. "Now, I'm walking to meet my bodyguard at the front gate, since NATO doesn't want them wandering about while armed, before walking home."

"Well, why don't I walk with you? I was on my way to my bunk anyway," Edgar suggested with a shrug, sticking his hands in his pockets in response to a cold breeze.

"So," Richard started hesitantly as he resumed walking over the packed dirt towards the exit. "… am I doing the right thing? It just seems like… I mean, I didn't want to be made 'Lord Richard' as the locals call me, or even Sir Richard."

Edgar barked out a laugh.

"Are you looking for compliments or mistakes to correct?" He asked. "I'm not going to let you put yourself down but…"

He paused, seeing the troubled look on Richard's face.

"Things just feel… outside of my control," Richard admitted.

"Ah, that. Yeah, okay," Major Johnston nodded in understanding. "Okay. So, yes, there is a mistake you made. Not completely your fault, other people should have been on it too, but… well, with all the new stuff we are dealing with..."

He trailed off, shrugging.

"So, you aren't proactive enough," He went on to explain to the younger man. "You react. Not make others react to you. Same with Tara. As a consequence, you didn't exactly push things to go in any direction. You didn't say yes or no to being made lord of Alnus or set something or someone else up to rule over it. No one brought that up."

"Tara… well, from what I know, she pretty much was forced into taking charge," Edgar mused. "She did push for a solution that at least helped solve problems, most people got what they needed, etc. But she still had to be pushed to that point."

A look of guilt flashed across Richard's face.

"Don't," Edgar's tone made him flinch at the rebuttal. "Richard, their situation could have turned ugly. Damn nearly did from what I heard. You did good, and so did she. But you can't lead while being passive."

Richard swallowed.

"I… I get what you are saying. And I guess I see what you are talking about," He swallowed. "Thanks."

"Hey, I'm your friend," Edgar held out a fist. "I'm sorry I can't help more, or sooner."

Richard glanced at the fist for a moment, before bumping it with his own.

"Alright," Major Johnston said as they stopped before the gate. "I'm off. Take care of yourself. Alright?"

"You too," Richard replied, heart heavy.

 

[1stSergeant MagicalGeek]

Welcome to politics

 

[ATP]

Welcome to politics

Why not roman politics? made desert,and call it peace.

That aside - old canadian artillery - good,but why not ADATS ? Canada decide to stop using them,right? seems ideal to deal with wyverns and ogres.