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Eulogy
Copost with Elvhenen

It had been over a month since the collapse. Things were recovering in Qirinai, if slowly. One change, in particular, was becoming more evident. Below ground, space had always been tight, but the people had been used to it, so there were no complaints. Now, with the abundance of land, more and more people were moving out of the cities and into the countryside around them. As a result, the population was moving gradually eastward, moving inland in search of free land. The military had been forced to move with them, as flare-ups repeated sporadically across the open areas wherever two communities claimed the same land. But with that move, it meant that things were finally starting to cool off locally. That was good, because Kaelierai had more important things to worry about.

The last five days had been full of protocol and ceremony as the city of Saekhuri and - by extension, the rest of the nation - prepared to commemorate the life of the Ai-Aunatau, General Faars. It hadn't been possible to have the traditional Qirinii memorial since Faars' body had not returned from Caeluon, so instead, the gifting ceremony would take place in the capital. A few of Faars' close family would speak, as would Kaeleirai. The question was, would the Empyrian speak also?

Kaeleirai moved through the streets of the new Saekhuri along with her attendant, Qouzitha, a woman thirty years her senior. Tassarion had taken lodgings up the hill, near the central golden dome.

Tassarion's lodgings, which had essentially become known as the Chamber of the Empyrium, were little different than any other home in Qirinai. Filled with several couches, tables, and sconces upon the walls as well as some artwork depicting various buildings in Elvhenen. The main room was that of the living room, decorated with the aforementioned furniture. At the end of the hall on the opposite side of the main room was Tassarion's personal quarters, home to a large bed, a wooden table, chair, and a fireplace. Little else decorated it.

It was so similar, in fact, that if Kaeleirai had not already known where Tassarion was staying, she would have been hard-pressed to say which of the houses on the row she was supposed to be going to. Fortunately, although the Empyrian had not had any pretensions at all, the local guard had insisted on placing two full detachments on either end of the street, just in case of trouble. She headed to the middle of the row and knocked on the door.

Allowing a few moments to pass by, Tassarion arrived at the door, pulling it open to reveal Kaeleirai. A shining smile appeared upon his face at the sight of her. "Crown Princess, it's so good to see you again. Please do come in." He said as he moved out of the way of the doorway.

Qouzitha moved before Kaeleirai could, stepping through the doorway and looking over the house. It was a bit intrusive, and Kaeleirai would have said something if she'd thought it would have made the least bit of difference, but it was her job, and if a single word could be used to sum the older woman up, intransigent would be it. She especially distrusted Tassarion - not only because he was a foreigner, but because Kaeleirai was on good terms with him and trusted him. As a direct result of this, Qouzitha did not trust him, and always paid more than the necessary attention to everything he did. That included, apparently, his choice of lodgings, even though Kaeleirai had been the one to allot them.

Tassarion let her past, though he wouldn't have had much of a choice. The Empyrian took no offense to the maneuver, as he assumed that she had been a guardswoman for Kaeleirai judging from the amount of time she took overlooking the house he'd been placed in. He simply smiled and motioned for her to enter the room as well. "I assure you, I have no intentions of breaking the Crown Princess's trust nor harm her in any way," Tassarion said with a friendlier tone.

She just grumped at him, but it was offset by Kaeleirai's smile. She leaned in a bit to murmur, "She's been doing this all her life. I just stay out of her way." Then, louder, "I'm sure you don't, but Qouzitha is cautious, and caution is a good thing in the requisite amounts. There's been a lot of unrest these past few weeks, and some of it has been personally directed at me. You'd think to listen to them that they think that I caused the gem shortage deliberately. But... enough of that. Have you decided?"

Tassarion's smile that had so willingly shone down upon Kaeleirai's beautiful face had wiped away at the mention of Faar's memorial service. It took a moment for him to give the Crown Princess his reply, as he'd still been on the fence about speaking, considering he strongly believed General Faars was still not dead. He was so convinced of it that as soon as he returned to Mithranus, he demanded to the Consular and the Empyrial Council that they prepare the First Battlegroup and the Navy to prepare for an immediate return to where they'd gone. At that moment, he was willing to bring his military's might down upon that tower, regardless of how many hundreds if not thousands would die to reach it. Of course, he was met with staunch pushback, from the Consular, the Council, and even the High General. It didn't take long for him to realize what a death sentence that would be for his own soldiers. His popularity and support from the people would vanish overnight, perhaps even his own family. To sacrifice so many to find someone who may already be dead? It was selfish, too selfish for an Empyrian. So, he dropped the matter entirely and resorted to traveling to Qirinai, despite his family's pleadings for him to remain at home for just a few weeks longer. He ignored them, kissed them goodbye, and began his journey.

"I.....I don't know yet. I don't believe him to be dead, Your Highness." Tassarion said, a sort of sadness within his voice.

With the serious tone to the discussion, Qouzitha made herself scarce. Undoubtedly she was still somewhere nearby, but Kaeleirai has learned that she could loom quietly and unseen for hours, only to suddenly be present when needed.

In response to Tassarion, Kaeleirai nodded - a small, nearly unnoticeable gesture. "I am finding it hard to believe that is gone as well. But thinking of him still alive and trapped in a wasteland such as that is no better. Still..." She sat down, robes billowing up a tiny cloud of dust that sparkled in a sunray near her feet. "What we are doing is not a burial. We could never pronounce someone's life at an end without proof. Still, whether dead or alive, his life should be remembered. It is only right. And who knows? If he does live, he may find that he is in the spirits' favor after they are reminded of who he is."

"This is true. And very wise, Crown Princess. Perhaps you're right. If there's nothing else I can do, I should at least honor him with a few words. I will speak." Said Tassarion, sitting down across from Kaeleirai.

Kaeleirai sat back with a sigh. She ran her hands through her hair, which was beginning to show single strands of silver interspersed through the black. "I am afraid things have moved far too quickly these last three years."

She paused, interrupting herself. "No one wants to go back to the way things were before - save for a few irrational souls.... but..."

"The timing of our re-emergence was not fortuitous. The fish attacks, the loss of many of our soldiers, and now the rush to the surface in the wake of losing the gems? The people are tired, and so am I. I'm beginning to wonder why I'm doing this."

For even the briefest moment, Tassarion's eyes darted up to Kaeleirai's hair. He quickly noticed the shiny strands of silver hidden amongst the black hair. He couldn't help but admire the beauty that was the Crown Princess. The nonchalant and thoughtless display of stress wasn't something that the Empyrian was unaccustomed to. Ruling such a young country as he did came with much of its own problems. In many ways, war was simpler than statecraft and just as Tassarion had become well versed in the ways of the sword, Atron was highly skilled with his quill and inkwell, won his battles through his words, and won quite often.

Tassarion smiled slightly before quickly wiping it away, unknowingly charmed by the Princess, replacing his brief moment of enjoyment with an equal expression and sigh. "Kaeleirai, I know how-" Tassarion halted his words as he caught himself.

"Would it be alright if I called you such? I know how stressful it's been for both you and Qirinai. Even I at times feel as if I'd like to simply stop all of this. To be away for so long...first here in Qirinai, then in the Black Fault. I've been fighting for the Empyrium for so long that I've forgotten the home I'm fighting for. My children are growing without me and I'm....strangely okay with that. The Consuliar has been running the nation well without me."

Tassarion leaned back in his chair, allowing his head to rest on the crown of the high-backed chair. "Trust me, Your Highness. I'm all too familiar with the feeling." The Empyrian rose his head once more. "I will do whatever I can to ensure that peace is once more brought to your beautiful country. Whether that be merchants, soldiers, gold, iron, horses, camels, or even just to listen."

Princess Kaeleirai shook her head slowly. "The people are resilient. They always have been. It's one of the things I relied upon when I pushed for reconnecting with the outside world. Spirits, that seems like a lifetime ago now. So many of those who supported our efforts are gone now, and the people are no longer as united as they were then - or perhaps it's always been this way and I was just too naive to notice. Getting into politics was supposed to be about forcing our leaders to look outside of our caves. I don't think that any of us ever thought that we would become the government.

"We do value our friendship with the Empyrium, however. It seems that many people we have met since returning to the world have taken our presence as a threat or have unnecessarily thought we were not being entirely honest with them. Even my own council feels as if they need to interpret what I am saying to them sometimes. It is good to have the company of someone with whom I can speak forthrightly. I do not mind being called by my name. There's few who do it without the honorifics. To be honest, it feels as though my name needs to precede me into a room just so I can get anything done once I'm there." There's a wan smile at this attempt at humor, though it does little to lighten the mood.

Tassarion smiled at Kae's humorous statement. "Such is the life of leaders, I'm afraid. When I was still in the Eternals, I wish I had someone tell me that being a leader of such a large and vast swathe of land would be the most difficult aspect of my life. By Mithalla's backside, battle is easier than statecraft. I find it so much more straightforward to have just plunged a spear into a sea creature than to have maneuvered my way through the intricate and delicate maze of the Empyrial Council, tribal issues with the government, having to appease the Military Panel. It's all so very boring," said Tassarion.

The statement caused Kaeleirai to pause for a moment. Then, "I don't think I really ever connected you with the Eternals. How was it to live there in the shadows of the old Empyrium? We have stories - more legend than anything now - but nothing solid to hold on to."

Tassarion thought for a moment on how best to describe his former home. He had many fond memories of the gentle landscape that provided food, shelter, and safety. Compared to how harsh the southern sands were, it immediately made him miss it.

"I wouldn't so much call it the shadows any longer. Growing up with my clan, we rarely saw many relics or ruins of the old Empyrium on our known trade routes. There were of course the well-known ruins of Old Mithranus, but even that had been swallowed by the vines and thick brush of the deep forests by the time I was born. When the Kostuans moved in during the elven wars, they burnt and destroyed everything. Whole cities were torn down, monuments shattered, elaborate libraries filled with ancient long-lost knowledge were torched. Tens of thousands of elves were enslaved. I remember reading about it all in old books my father once kept. Talarin's actions saw to the complete annihilation of much of the Eternalic culture. If you were to go to the Eternals now, you'd never know there was once the most powerful Empire in the world there at one time. Survivors that fled the cities eventually formed the clans you know of today - old names that existed during those times, such as Varda, Dontassa, and Miratris. Many elves such as my sister, saw the Eternals as a comfortable and safe place. Complacent to be nothing more than traveling bands of merchants or paranoid barons of keeps atop the mountain ranges. There was no future there, Kaeleirai. Then when news made its way to us from the south, of the discovery of a well-preserved temple of Mithalla, I took it as a sign. I inspired my people to move, thousands of them." Tassarion paused for a moment, looking down at his hands as he was nearly swept away in thought and emotion.

"My sister continues to live there, with the rest of the clan that wished not to go." Tassarion released a sigh. "The Old Empyrium lives on in memory, only. The Eternals belong to the Riddish, Saejuans, and Uyutahns now. Despite what Siraya may say, there's no future left for the elves there."

"As one of our scholars once said, 'The past is everything we failed to be'... It's meant to mean that we should not dwell on the past, that our experiences make us better, and that the future is full of promise. He failed to mention that the failures of the past could color our future." Kaeleirai paused there, re-examining her thoughts. There had been one central issue weighing on her mind now for a good while.

When she continued, it was hesitantly. "It does not make it easier when disaster strikes through no failure of your own. The people can find no one to blame, so they blame whoever is different. Or they blame their leaders. Or both. And I cannot help but think that they are right to blame me. We promised a life above the ground, and yet I did not push for it for the majority. If I'd done things differently... But I can't think of that now. It takes precious time away from the problems of the present. Still... The people are blaming me, and it takes a toll. A toll that distracts from the necessary work before our people. I cannot help but feel that we would recover faster as a people if I were no longer a distraction."

"The true test of a leader, as my father had once told me when I assumed the mantle of Master, is that do what you feel is right for your people, despite what a few malcontents may say. You see, the concept of what is right varies between subject to subject. Some feel we must establish dominance through war, others through diplomacy, others through masterful trade relations. When I helped found our Second Imperium, those that despised me as Clanmasters in the Eternals now despise me as Councilors in Elvhenen. Even my own sister, the last of my family, denounced me as J left with my supporters. She had the mindset of Erendriel, my father. The elves stay in the Eternals, as we have for centuries. Even after the collapse of the first Imperium, we were the hardline clans that believed there was safety in the shaded canopies of the Eternals. Safety perhaps, but no future. Nothing as solid and intricate As the First Imperium was. I made that decision and convinced them that the Eternals were slowly being encroached upon by stronger powers. And I was right. The Eternals fly under the Riddish flags, the Saejuans hold our former northern kingdoms, their ruins now lost to time and vines. As Empyrian, I hold power and though the Consuliar may not always agree with my methods, he realizes the importance of a strong, unified front in the face of such a divided legislative body such as the Council. But perhaps this isn't the same as for the Federated Kingdoms?"

Kaeleirai shook her head. "It is not the same. In Voksarca the Matriarch holds sway, but the humans are more used to a king than we are. Before Qirinai was Qirinai, the Federated Cities were once united under a single strong leader. But corruption and - quite frankly - ego led to his downfall, and my people have never really been amenable to that sort of power since. But, that means that when decisions are made, they are made with the public knowledge that there was agreement on them. That gives them a weight that I would not be able to give them on my own. In truth, though, most of the power in Qirinai lies in the guilds and old families. They put forth candidates for the councils and have money to back them, and it is they who control most of the cities. At the end of the day though, despite there being no real alternative, the people are scared and angry, and they have no one to direct it at, so it comes to me."

Tassarion nodded in agreement, beginning to understand the delicate situation put on the Crown Princess. "I see. The immense pressure and stress that places in you must be unbearable at times. Councillor positions are made from the next in line son or daughter, an inherited position. It's rather cut and dry, though there are many elements of the Council that are corrupt, this I know. I haven't been at my post as much as I should be in Mithranus, but I know many of those Clansmasters. Their greed and lust for power surely was not left behind in the Eternals."

There was a slight pause between statements for Tassarion, looking down at his feet as he allowed some silence to gather between them. "What do you want to do?"

Kaeleirai let the silence linger. She was nearing a decision, but it was not one that she could make lightly. Although the vast majority of the people gave it no thought, her position was secure for one reason only. No one in Qirinai fully trusted the Matriarch. For it was she that would by default become the next Aunatau when Kaeleirai no longer served. Rule by a human was not something that any elf looked forward to. The history of too long and too bloody between the races. Finally, she spoke. "I don't know. Yet. Part of me wants to just walk away, but I am not sufficiently kaipae to be able to look away from the problems that would cause. I am loathe to simply run away from a problem. If only I had something to run to..."

The silence took over again - until Quozitha made herself known. It was time for the memorial.

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Deus Vicit

On the 16th of Kirus the Duke of Korbek chose to hold a council of war with the commanders of his army. This decision was motivated by many things, not least because his force had been in retreat for the better part of two weeks—stemmed from the approach of the Syrdurian army—but also because command over his coalition of nobles had become increasingly difficult. Every day his subordinates would resist his orders with a growing stubbornness, opposing his every decision. Even the simple choice of what route to take during the army’s retreat provoked argument and outcry from his nobles, and despite his best attempts to handle the situation, Hans Albrecht could not take it anymore. Neither could his nobles, who, quite exhausted with the stubbornness of their own liege, had put their foot down and demanded he listen.

He knew why they opposed him: they were tired of retreating. Having begun the war with a fiery eagerness to face the Syrds, a good majority of his nobles found themselves disappointed by the sudden retreat of Hans Albrecht at the advent of the Syrdish army, which had entered Korbek with no resistance and wasted no time capturing Hallish lands. Although Hans Albrecht constantly stressed the advantage that their enemy held over them, which worried him greatly, his nobles did not heed his words. No truer was this situation than in the Duke’s own son, Prince Kristian. The young prince, who had before been leading the pro-sovereignty faction within the court, had now taken up a new role in his father’s army: that of the faction vying for battle. To Hans Albrecht’s great frustration, he had proven himself a great champion of that cause and every day campaigned for it with a growing willingness.

A day before the Duke elected to hold his council of war, he expressed his intention to retreat further eastward, still unsure that his army could face the Syrds on the field of battle. This meant giving up the important city of Obersrath to King Karlus, and this the nobility of Korbek, Kristian among them, could not tolerate. Later that day they petitioned the Duke to heed their words and declared they would not give up Obersrath without a fight. He now had no choice but to reluctantly declare a council of war. Bringing his army to a temporary halt by the small village of Nienshalden, just a few miles away from Obersrath, the Duke made ready to meet with his nobles.

The council chose to hold its meeting at the bailiff's house in Nienshalden, which must’ve come to a shock to the old, gruff-looking man, to see such an assembly of nobles and the Duke of Korbek at his small manor, which clearly was not even fit for a count. Nevertheless, there they met. The small hall of the manor, which housed only a table and a few chairs, was crammed to the brim with nobles, ranging from counts and margraves to lowly barons, though even those were still extraordinarily wealthy, flaunting their plate armour before the whole crowd. The Duke of Korbek took a seat by the table, an expression of dissatisfaction clearly on his face for all to see. Others, including the Duke’s Constable, Count Dietrich, also took a seat, but most remained standing, among them Prince Kristian.

There was a distinct and visible split in the room. The crowd had unknowingly and unwillingly divided itself into three groups, each centred around its ‘leader’. The first, huddled around Prince Kristian, consisted of those who advocated for battle. The Duke, who knew them well, could mark out the members of this group as brash glory-seekers, traits that Hans Albrecht did not possess nor desire. He held a special feeling of contempt for that lot, who had sabotaged his command of the army, and each day campaigned for nothing more than what he thought to be an extremely risky endeavour, verging on suicide. The second group was gathered around the Duke himself, comprising such characters as the Constable Count Dietrich, and other more feeble-minded nobles who thought battle to be too risky and that retreat was the only option. The third and final group were split between the Duke and Kristian, showing no favour to either party. The most prominent of them was Margrave Hermann, a dainty little man, who looked around the room with his warm green eyes, chiming in with a few useless comments every now and then.

Yet there was a fourth group in that room, though it was certainly harder to spot, for it comprised every man there. That group, seemingly invisible, was of those that were simply trying to make the most for themselves; who were driven forward by self-interest. Ranging from the young Prince Kristian, who advocated for battle because he sought glory, fame and distinction from his father, to the Constable Count Dietrich, who suggested retreat because he feared losing his men in battle, to Margrave Hermann, who wanted to profit off of the favour from both sides, and then to Duke Hans Albrecht himself, who believed that retreat eastward would help him win the war—and he stood to benefit immensely should he win it.

The meeting dragged on for the better part of the day. Although at first the conversation was restricted to simple exchanges between Prince Kristian, Hans Albrecht and the Constable, over time it soon grew into a fiery debate, as men from each group traded words that ranged from insults to proposals. The Prince would not back down—he was resolute in his statement that they had a good chance to fight the Syrds and that to give up Obersrath without a fight would be a grave mistake. He brought up the fact that Korbek’s reputation was at stake, that if they simply kept retreating from King Karlus’s army they would be disgraced in front of the other Hallish states. To him and his supporters, they had to give battle. There was simply no other option.

Though the Duke tried to retaliate, dredging up statements of how fighting was too risky, of the endless number of men the Syrdish King commanded, none of it proved any use. Margrave Hermann and the rest of his indecisive lot were seeing the way the conversation was going, and as afternoon approached, they made their choice and sided with Prince Kristian. Faced with almost unanimous opposition from his commanders, Hans Albrecht had no choice but to acquiesce. In the next hours, he and his nobles hastily tried to draw a plan for battle and here, to the Duke’s great pleasure, decision making proved easier.

The Hallish nobility and their Duke chose to move their army further north of Nienshalden, where they were currently meeting, and instead make battle just up the village of Aimerbülh, which the Syrds would have to pass through in order to get to Obersrath. The surrounding terrain was thought to be favourable, according to reports from scouts—there was a nearby forest, and if the Syrds were to attack from there they risked having their backs turned to it, which made retreat potentially dangerous. Yet to the men in that room the supposed success of the coming battle hinged not on a meticulously planned defence, or a bold calculating manoeuvre that would wipe out the Syrds in a single strike, but on the strength of their famed lancers and knights, which they reckoned would be enough to break the enemy lines. As Prince Kristian eloquently put into words during the meeting: “We charge and let them have it!”.

***
Yet as the Hallish nobles deliberated on the coming battle and made their preparations, the Syrds were closing in on Obersrath. Having set out from Wyvern’s Rest earlier that year, the ‘army of King Karlus’ (a most inaccurate nickname, but a nickname nonetheless) had marched into Korbek with a relentless push eastward. The grand force of some 20,000 men had apparently given the Enemy a great shock—to Duke Martyn’s surprise and confusion no Hallish army awaited him at the border. Nor was there one a few miles into the Duchy, and as the Syrds continued to move eastward, they found the Enemy to be just a few steps ahead in retreat.

The same day that the Duke of Korbek convened the war council with his nobility Karlus was treated to a spectacle from his soldiers. It was a show he had seen many times already, but it was one he never tired of. His army’s ‘display’, as the King liked to call it, began shortly after they broke camp and set out on the march eastward. As the sun rose above the horizon and shined its golden splendour above the land, the grand column of men, wagons and horses suddenly erupted into an uproar of noise. In this strange fusion of sounds that echoed throughout the road, the beating of drums proved to be the loudest. Their rhythmical clatter which had burst onto the stage, a spectacle worth watching by itself, was soon joined by hundreds of voices. High or low, raspy or mellow, they soon all blended into a single great melody that reverberated throughout the fields and plains. The surrounding trees and forests also appeared to partake in this show—their leaves danced in the light breeze of the windy morning, swinging to and fro in unison with the soldiers.

The song they sang was new to Karlus. The light, almost cheerful tune of the music stood in sharp contrast to the words, which held no happiness nor joy. They sang of battle, of burning villages on the horizon, of the Enemy's sweethearts who would cry in sorrow once hearing that their love had been killed. They told of how a great darkness would descend on the land of the Enemy, how their fields would be stripped bare of food, how plumes of black smoke would emerge from their cities and how their castles would be reduced to rubble.

The ‘Enemy’ they spoke of was certainly the Duke of Korbek and his people, an enemy that to Karlus no doubt deserved loathing, but the King was still astonished by the sheer hate those mercenary soldiers supposedly held for the man. They had only spent a few weeks in Korbek, battle had yet to be fought and yet they still spoke of the Duke in such a detestable manner that it seemed almost fictitious. What reason did they have to hate him, to hate his people? Did they hate him because they were at war with him and thus he deserved every ounce of it? Did they hate him because they really thought that his proclamation of sovereignty was illegal and that what he was doing was wrong?

“They hate him and his people because they think I hate him, and I’m the one who pays them.” Concluded Karlus, muttering the words softly under his breath. The song of his soldiers had now changed, from the cheerful threats of death and destruction to a much more somber tune. The clattering of the drums grew quieter, so did the voices, who now sang of their Kingdom and of Syrduria. By that point the King had stopped paying attention to their words and, bringing his horse to a gallop, began riding along the road up to the vanguard where his father was.

Accompanied by some of his knights, the King soon drew the attention of the soldiers who were marching along the road. Even as they continued singing their gazes were drawn to him, and Karlus could see some of the men exchanging very brief words between each other. He also couldn’t help but steal a few glances at them. Their bright and colourful clothing, feather hats, and long bristled spikes, held upright as they marched, consistently caught his eye. Everything about them was a spectacle to Karlus. It still struck him with surprise when he contemplated the fact that each and every one of those men, with their bright and happy expressions, were prepared to kill and slaughter in his name.

Riding up to the vanguard of the great column, Karlus found his father to be at the very forefront, surrounded by mounted knights, who were trotting forward with a proud look on their faces. They clearly took great pleasure in being part of Duke Martyn’s little group, and they took even greater pleasure in welcoming His Highness into it, giving a curtsy of respect as Karlus joined the huddle and approached Martyn. Dressed in his old plate armour that he had worn to war with Augustyn, the Duke had just finished speaking with one of his commanders, and he bore a disgruntled look of worry. His feeble eyes were almost half-asleep, and his posture was all wrong—he was slouched over his horse and looked as if he was ready to collapse from exhaustion. Yet, however pathetic the appearance may have been, it still inspired a great look of pride from those who surrounded him and they rode along as if nothing was wrong.

The commander he had just finished speaking with was still there in the group. A towering giant with a great chestnut beard, he had an imposing presence on the crowd. His red and blue clothing, with little slashes all the way from his shoulders to ankles was reminiscent of the soldiers that Karlus had just rode by. His shining cuirass and open steel sallet dazzled in the sunlight and he wore a great ugly smile on his face, as he looked out to the road ahead. Karlus could not tell why he was smiling at first, but upon turning his gaze to the horizon he could see a plume of smoke rising up into the sky. The furrow on his brow deepened and he opened his mouth to speak.

“What’s that over there?” He asked the whole group, pointing to the smoke up ahead. The knights and noblemen all exchanged a few glances to see who should respond, but the gruff man in the front spoke up first without warning or consultation, shattering the calm tranquility of the crowd with his booming voice.

“That’s my boys that I sent up ahead. Fine lads, the lot of them!” He bellowed, letting out a few chuckles soon after.

“They caused the smoke?” Questioned the King softly. Once again it was the gruff man who replied.

“Aye, by the looks of it. Must be a village or little farmstead that’s burning. Look there’s one of them there!” Shouted the commander, turning the group’s gaze to a lone rider that appeared above one of the small hills. He rode down to the crowd and gave a quick greeting to them. He caught sight of Karlus, and prepared to say a few words to him, but Martyn then abruptly interjected.

“Any sign of the enemy?” He snapped, saying the words so quickly that it took the rider a moment to process what he had said.

“Not a single foe in sight, Your Grace. Nothing but peasants and other filth.” Answered the rider.

“But I thought they had stopped and were looking for a fight!” Exclaimed the gruff-looking man.

“Perhaps they’re further up the road or maybe a few miles off, I don’t know. I sent Heinryk and Yanos further ahead with a few men.” Replied the rider. Karlus didn’t know who those two were, but the gruff man certainly did and almost as if he was trying to dispel Karlus’ questions, he said something along the lines of “they’re good men, fine soldiers”.

“Albrycht.” Barked Martyn, still slouched over his horse. The gruff commander soon turned to face the Duke, that wide ugly smile of his still clear as day.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps you should go further up and bring some more of your riders with you. Scout ahead, and make sure we know what exactly we’re walking into.”

“A sound decision, cousin.” Replied Albrycht. Martyn gave a quick scowl, but soon turned his gaze back to the black smoke in the distance. A look of confusion was drawn across Karlus’ face, the King still somewhat unsure of everything that was happening. His eyes darted between knight to knight and then from Martyn to Albrycht. As silence befell that group, the King had a strange feeling that he was wasting people’s time and so decided to speak up.

“Is there something going on with the enemy? I thought they were still on the run?” He asked and gave another look at each and every man in that group, hoping that one of them would answer.

“Not anymore. Though we failed to cut them off at Obersrath, they haven’t yet made it past the city. They’re looking for a battle it seems. We thought their vanguard would be quite close to where we are now, but apparently not.” Responded Martyn. The Duke was fiddling with the reins of his horse, and Karlus could see that his hands were shaking—he was nervous.

“Battle? You’re quite sure?”

“Resolute.” Said Martyn. The King now shared his father’s look of worry. He too began fiddling with the reins of his horse, and a disgruntled expression was drawn across his face, as he frequently diverted his eyes to the black smoke, which drew ever nearer as they rode further up the road.

“Is it wise to fight them?”

“I’m not sure. I think so.” Answered the Duke, rubbing his eyes back and forth so as to wake himself up, but to no avail. He rode on his horse with such frailty that it shocked even his son. To see his father, once a proud towering man confident of his every move, now a feeble and nervous creature, exhausted by everything.

“Bah!” Shouted one of the knights. His visor opened, Karlus could recognise him as Tomás of Vrilek, a son of Lord Matyas of Vrilek, who was also in the group. “Forgive me for this outburst, Your Highness, but I am certain that we will crush that Duke and his army. One quick charge from our brave lancers and we’ll have them on the run!” He exclaimed, making wild gestures with his arms. There was some murmuring between the knights, both of disagreement and approval.

“Surely we should be more cautious, no?” Said the King, silencing the murmurs and Tomás, whose face full of certainty vanished. Yet Albrycht, the gruff looking commander, did not change his expression. In fact, he remained confident in his look, standing completely upright above his horse, the old grotesque smile still on his face.

“Throw it to the wind, Your Highness! Send my men in and we’ll break their lines in no time! Attack and let them have it, I say!” He shouted so that the whole group could hear. There were a few chuckles, some laughs, but this did not discourage Albrycht. He remained proud as ever, and then turned to Martyn, who had lost interest in the conversation.

“I’m moving up ahead with some more of my men, as you suggested, cousin. Battle is not far off, I don’t think.” He said. The Duke nodded in approval, and with a loud “hyah!” he left the group, riding down the column to fetch more of his men. A minute later he was riding back up, surrounded by twenty more riders, before vanishing into the horizon.

The black smoke, which had been edging ever nearer, finally came into view for the group of knights. A small farmstead, of some four buildings just off the road, had been set ablaze. Karlus could see two Syrdurian soldiers there. One had been searching a small shed before exiting it abruptly, saying something to his companion with an angry look on his face. The other, a bloody dagger in hand, was crouched over a dead body, a dissatisfied expression in his eyes and lips. The two men exchanged a few brief words before each mounted their own horses and rode off into the distance.

***
A few hours later the Syrdish army finally reached the outskirts of Aimerbühl. Thanks to Albrycht’s vanguard the Syrds were aware of the Hallish army positioned just north of the village. They were also aware of the forest just north of the enemy army, but paid little attention to it. The plan decided on by Karlus’ commanders was not a brilliantly and meticulously thought out attack against the Duke of Korbek’s army. Like their Hallish counterparts (though they didn’t know it), their grand plan was one simply of attack. The Syrdish mercenaries, arrayed into their famed pike squares, would attack the enemy infantry, while their brave lancers would charge and ‘let the enemy have it’.

As they reached the rolling fields and plains just north of the town, the Syrds began their deployment. From a firsthand view, Karlus saw the grand column of men, all dressed in their bright and colourful clothing, move into position. Orders were bellowed out between officers and their men, as they hastily moved, marched and organised themselves into their little cohesive blocks. The beating of the drums did not cease, their clattering continued to resonate throughout the land like a loud clock.

Karlus, surrounded by his guard, among them Lyrenz and Lutwig, watched the whole affair with some delight. The large hill that he now stood atop provided him, his father and the men that were with them a commanding view of the whole region. The Hallish army could even be seen, though it appeared as nothing more than gray masses, standing idly in the green field. It was all still a spectacle to the King. A mere ceremony, like the ones he had seen in Wyvern’s Rest and at Kristoberg castle. The mere notion of the bloodshed that was about to be spilled still seemed wholly unreal to him. He was in his own little trance, pacing up and down the hill with a giddy and excited look on his face, as he saw his soldiers slide into formation. Lyrenz, meanwhile, seeing his King in an almost chipper mood, thought that now was a good time to request something from him, and thus walked over to Karlus.

“Your Highness!” Hailed Lyrenz as he approached him. The King looked at him with a faint but warm smile on his face.

“Ah, Lyrenz! What is it?” He said, still pacing up and down jumpily.

“I’d like your permission to join the lancers, Your Highness.” Requested Lyrenz, dressed in full plate armour.

“The lancers? Your job is to be with me at my side, guarding me.” Answered Karlus, a bit confused by the interruption. He constantly shot a few glances at his army just ahead, which was still moving and organising itself. Lyrenz gave a look of dismay, his posture suddenly becoming slouched.

“Well…I’d still be protecting you, just in a different way. I’d like to join the lancers, Your Highness. I want to fight with them. Please.” Pleaded Lyrenz, in an almost childish manner as he begged for his King to accept the request. His knee was twitching and he was constantly moving his hand as he waited for Karlus to respond.

“Do you even have the proper equipment to fight with them?”

“Yes! I have my lance, and my page and my…” Began Lyrenz, trying to list off all the things he had, but he was cut off by a gesture from Karlus.

“Well alright then. Get your horse and ride over to them. Talk with His Grace first though, he’ll sort you out.” Said the King, and with that he turned away from Lyrenz, and turned his focus back to his soldiers. The young knight quietly walked off and approached Martyn. The Duke was in a much more different state of mind than his son. While Karlus was in a strange trance of denial, watching the deployment like a spectacle and completely ignoring any mentions of battle, the Duke stood motionless, his eyes darting between the Syrdish soldiers marching and moving and the Hallish army in the far distance. He was in a frail state, his whole body trembling. When Lyrenz approached him and asked about fighting with the lancers, Martyn merely muttered some words of agreement and without even turning to look at Lyrenz, he told him to meet up with Count Jakob Zalan’s lancers before turning silent. With that, Lyrenz mounted his horse and rode off in order to find that count, his page not far behind.

Riding down the hill, Lyrenz found himself going past the pikemen and halberdiers in their colourful clothing. Men were moving back and forth, others were barking out orders to everyone around them. Some were in deep conversation as they marched, bright and happy expressions still on their faces. Others remained quiet, clutching their weapons firmly as if battle was already upon them. All the while the drums kept beating, their tunes heard throughout the entire army.

Moving further ahead, ushering his horse forward with a kick and a “hyah”, Lyrenz eventually found the lancers to be even further up ahead by the forest, less than a mile off from the infantry. Their great banners fluttering in the wind marked them out and after a quick ride he found them to be in a similar state as the pikemen. Some were chatting between each other, others were focused only on preparing for battle, making sure their horses were in a good condition, while a few of them shouted orders with their booming voices. After a minute of asking around, he eventually found Count Jakob. A cheerful man, no older than forty, the count looked Lyrenz up and down, gave a small chuckle, told him that he could be in the middle row and then sent him away.

Eventually the column of men that had rushed onto the field fully vanished from the plains and hills. It was instead replaced by tightly packed squares of men, their steel pikes and halberds still bristling in the light breeze of that day. On the left side by the forest were the lancers, their highly ornate banners starkly contrasted by the much more simple flags of their infantry counterparts. Everything seemed to be in place. Suddenly all the moving and marching of the men came to a stop. The entire army, which moments ago was bustling with activity and movement, came to a strange halt. The silence was filled only by the constant and unceasing beating of the drums. Karlus looked at them with some disappointment, upset that his little spectacle had come to an end. Yet that disappointment lingered only for a while, because just minutes later the dense squares of men went on the move.

Karlus continued to watch the show with the same excitement as before. The pikemen, who he had seen earlier that day with their bright and happy expressions, no longer appeared as real men. As they moved further and further towards the Hallish army, which had been in its own flurry of movement since the Syrdish arrival, they appeared less as individual soldiers and more as dots. Just dots, tangled together in some weird formation that moved with a mind of its own. Both the Hallish and the Syrds appeared in a similar way, masses of colours that were now moving against each other, prepared to crash together to form some abstract image. He couldn’t really make sense of it. The fact that they were about to join together in order to kill and maim still appeared alien to him.

Yet, almost as if in order to snap the King out of his delusion, the first shots began to ring out across the battlefield. They were mere whispers. Just tiny clouds of smoke rising into the sky, almost unnoticeable by the King. Having been suddenly brought out of his trance by the gunfire, the King now began to rapidly walk around his little hill, observing the armies move towards each other with a growing look of concern. Duke Martyn stood still as he watched, his face twisting into a frown as he watched everything closely. The Hallish, opposed to the long line of Syrdish pike squares in front of them, had arrayed their army into three great lines. Their great lancers, that according to Prince Kristian would supposedly break through the enemy lines, had been placed in the front, with a small vanguard of what looked to be archers to retaliate against the Syrdish gunfire. Behind that were the infantry, and behind that Martyn wasn’t sure, but he assumed it was yet more cavalry, held in reserve by the Duke.

As the Syrdish pike squares moved, so did the Hallish lancers. There was an air of uncertainty among both armies, as they marched timidly towards each other. Karlus, who was becoming increasingly fidgety, simply watched and observed. More shots rang out from the Syrdish lines, and almost as if in response to that, the Hallish lancers began moving. Quicker and quicker they marched, until suddenly they were charging. There were cries and shouts from the army, and the gunfire was suddenly muffled. Looking closer, Karlus could see the front side of the packed squares suddenly open up. Small dots were funnelled into the square through the gap. Karlus came to the assumption that it was the arquebusiers, crossbowmen and archers who were retreating into the square. Within a minute the formation was closed, the Syrdish skirmishers saved from near certain death.

As all this happened, the great gray mass of lancers came ever closer to the squares. As the Hallish knights neared their Enemy, the long steel pikes of the Syrds which had before stood upright in the wind, were now partly lowered in fierce opposition to the knights. Karlus prepared to see the full brunt of the Hallish force crash against the Syrds, but before they even reached the pikes, there was hesitation. The mass of lancers dithered, pausing for a moment, their momentum suddenly broken. A melee appeared to have begun, but it did not last for long—before long the Hallish knights were returning back to their army.

With that, the Syrdish pike squares resumed their march forward. With their lancers seemingly having returned in defeat, Karlus could only imagine what was going on with the Hallish commanders. He himself was not quite sure—he could hear his father bellowing out orders second after second, but his eyes and ears were fixated solely on the armies in front of him. After the lancers had withdrawn back into the army, the Duke of Korbek proceeded to send out his main mass of infantry forward. A great line of footmen, it moved forward against the pike squares and prepared for a bloody melee. On the left flank of the Syrdish army, meanwhile, the proud and brave lancers stood idly by the forest. For all the tales Karlus had heard about their bravery, chivalry and dominance on the battlefield, they seemed remarkably content in sitting it out. It was also a great disappointment to Lyrenz. Expecting the charge with the lancers to be the main centerpiece, he stood over his horse with an expression of anger and boredom.

As time passed, the two masses of infantry—one a line of footmen, the other broken up into small squares—pushed forward into each other. A vicious melee then broke out, though to Karlus it only appeared as colourful dots moving against each other in search of victory. The Syrds pushed their pikes against the Enemy, moving forward with a determined vigour. The Hallish likewise did not give in so easily. With their swords, halberds and other varying weapons, the Duke’s men-at-arms tried to cut through their lines. The lancers, meanwhile, were forming up for battle again. Prince Kristian, believing the infantry duel to be of minor importance, pressed for another charge, this time against the Syrdish cavalry by the forest. Martyn had a similar idea; he believed that if he could break the Hallish knights he could force them into retreat and so ordered Count Jakob to charge forward against the Hallish right flank.

Lyrenz had got what he wanted. Upon hearing the order from Count Jakob, he eagerly picked up his lance and moved into formation with the other lancers, positioning himself in the middle line as ordered. There was a giddy, almost excited feeling inside him. It was not his first time charging with the lancers—he had done it 2 years prior against Augustyn’s men—but it still felt all so new to him. As Jakob sounded the horn to begin the charge, he eagerly kicked at his horse, lowered his visor, and began moving. His group of lancers charged forward with a terrifying noise, as the hooves of their horses kicked up dirt and grass, spoiling the beautiful green image of the field before them. They saw their Hallish foe do the same, and suddenly it became clear to all of them that they were on a collision course towards each other. There was no stopping it, no time for hesitation. With a great resounding “hurrah!” the Syrds gave up all fears inside them, and charged.

The momentum that both the Syrdurians and the Hallish lancers had built up suddenly exploded into the violent, awful charge that followed. In a split second, Lyrenz had gone from being a part of the merry, cheerful group of lancers to being in the middle of a confusing and terrifying brawl. Without really thinking about it, he had driven his lance into one Hallish knight already, most likely killing the man. Seconds later he had come up against another of the Enemy and killed that man too, but soon after he lost his lance and had resorted to swinging wildly with his sword. He had completely forgotten himself during the melee. He wasn’t Ser Lyrenz Reimund, nor was he a knight in service to King Karlus. Rather, he was simply a single man in that group of lancers, another dot in that great mass, charging together to defeat the Enemy.

Within a few minutes both sides had withdrawn and resolved to charge again in order to break the enemy. Lyrenz, having lost his lance, was ordered to go to the back of the line for the next charge. Once again, both groups built up such a momentum that their crash into each other was devastating, yet once again the combat devolved into an awful melee that neither side truly wished for, so once again they retreated and resolved to charge.

Karlus, watching the whole thing from above, had become increasingly nervous; Martyn, in comparison, had remained with the same static expression for the entirety of the battle. Both men were still unsure of everything that was going on. The melee with the lancers remained indecisive, and it was hard to tell if anyone was winning the combat on the side of the infantry. The cries and shouts from the two armies were all that could be heard from the King’s little hill, where he continued to pace up and down in uncertainty.

Yet at that moment, as the King pondered on who was winning the battle, the lines of the Hallish infantry suddenly broke. Having been stuck in an awful melee against their Syrdish foes for quite some time, the Duke’s men-at-arms struggled for victory. The relentless push of the Syrdish pikes had opened up gaps in the enemy lines. The pikemen moved forward and forward, not letting their enemy catch a single moment of respite. And as the gaps in the Hallish lines grew larger and larger, the pike squares sent forth their swordsmen. Wielding great two-handed blades, they charged into the enemy lines with a great thundering cry, followed shortly by the halberdiers. The Hallish were struck by surprise and it became harder and harder to stem the Syrdish tide, which crashed against the Hallish again and again.

Suddenly there was a cry of “right, we’ve had it!” from one of the Hallish soldiers in the middle of the lines. These words soon reverberated throughout the Hallish infantry. There was shouting between the men. Cries of “we’re off! We’ve been defeated!” began to be heard throughout the ranks and without warning, the Hallish infantry broke into a rout. Their commanders, the numerous counts and barons who had brought their men into the battle, tried to stop it, but within minutes the rout had surged into a mass retreat, and the commanders too were on the run. The Duke of Korbek was given no choice but to sound a retreat, calling back his lancers, who were under the command of Prince Kristian. As afternoon approached, the battle drew to a close.

Both Martyn and Karlus saw the rout from their little hill. The King saw the little masses of dots surge back into the village ahead as the Syrds gave chase. Then there was a charge from the reserve lancers of the Hallish, and the Syrdish pike squares were put on the defensive again, which allowed for a more organised retreat from the Duke of Korbek. Nevertheless, he was victorious. He. He, who had done nothing but sit around and watch the whole thing with a growing nervousness, had won the battle. That thought provoked a chuckle from Karlus, then a laugh.

“Greatest in heaven! By the Lord we’ve done it, we’ve done it! By the grace of the Greatest we’ve done it!” Shouted Martyn, collapsing onto his knees. He held his hands in prayer, motioning to the skies above, before bursting into tears. Karlus wanted to move over to his father to comfort him, but he could not take his eyes off of the masses of colours in the distance, which moved back and forth in a strange, unintelligible dance. He was still chuckling.

***
A few hours later, once the battlefield was confirmed to be clear of any Hallish, Karlus rode down from his little hill and into the battlefield. He was joined by Duke Martyn, who had now reverted back to his old stern, frail state, and a large group of knights. Riding through the battlefield, the King was finally treated to a scene of what had actually happened while he watched from his little hill. Sheer bloodshed was what he saw. Unmitigated, absolute, bloodshed. Mangled bodies were strewn across the field. Dirtied and broken banners were hidden amongst the blood and bodies. The bright and colourful colours of the men’s clothing had all been spoiled by the dark crimson of their blood. Their lifeless eyes, closed or shut, seemed to stare into the King without remorse.

There was one man in particular that caught Karlus’ attention. His body, dressed in that oh so fancy and colourful clothing, was slumped over two knights, each adorned in plate armour. The man’s skull had been cracked open, and blood sloshed slowly out of his neck, trickling down onto the bodies below him. His light blue eyes stared out into the blue, lofty sky above him, above them all. There was a two-handed blade resting by the man’s body, just out of reach of the corpse’s hand. His expression, ruined completely by the wounds on his face, conveyed a strange feeling of contempt and hatred. Karlus couldn’t help but think about that man. How he was most likely among those soldiers who were singing merrily all those hours ago, with their cheerful and happy expressions. How his face now showed nothing but scorn and disdain at the sky above him.

“What a mess I’ve caused!” Thought the King, a feeling of regret drawn across his face. “That man’s blood is on my hands now, all because of my idiocy! All because of my actions! All because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut at a dinner! What a tragedy I’ve created!"

Balancing

A week had passed since the first meeting with my followers. Avra’s campaign to the east had begun to wrap up quickly, as reports came in of her five thousand man cavalry force having wiped out two mobilizing armies, and they took Brenphos without a fight! Reinforcements were dispatched to meet her outside of Markone to take it, though it was clear that any organized resistance to us was rapidly disappearing. Though one could argue if that’s a good thing or not. A hidden enemy is more dangerous than one you can identify. Word already spread of forces organizing, still loyal to the old Stravox dynasty. They’d have to be found and crushed, else we’d see all we achieved crumble.

The city of Chrysos still struggled to recover from the assault it had faced. Every block had minor damage, with some of them having buildings collapsing into the street, closing off the flow of traffic- a real issue for a trade hub and capital like that of Chrysos. The surviving Aitherioi of the assault on Chrysos, now its garrison, was put to action clearing rubble, with horses and oxen brought to bear to help in the clean up. Beyond clearing rubble, order had begun to be restored to the city, with a temporary city council drawn up from city locals to report any issues that may pop up whilst our council was busy- which it would likely be for the next few months at this rate.

We met once again in the palace, the thrones still there to symbolize the fall of the monarchy. After a week of daily meetings, things became both more rigid and more relaxed at the same time. Instead of the followers being worried about having their papers in order, they were more worried about if their proposals would be able to even finish being proposed before one of the followers would yell at them. It got tedious, that’s for sure. Half the day would be dedicated to figuring out what anyone was proposing. Luckily, I was a voice of reason, which the Followers, willingly or not, had to abide by.

“Let’s begin the day, shall we?” I tapped my papers on my legs, looking at my followers. Half of them already seemed busy trying to get their own papers sorted for the big day of arguments. “News has come from Braizia. Roparzh Ó Bravgad, the aging and sickly lord of the Braize has surrendered to us, willing to abdicate his crown if we let him retire. The issue is, his sons aren’t giving us an easy time. Both wish to rule the Braizens, whilst we ourselves want to absolve their monarchy entirely .”

Vlassis was the first to speak. “Is it not simple enough for you to see? This is our chance!”

“What are you talking about, Vlassis?” I purposefully sounded bored. We knew what he was gonna say, involving the Braizens.

“We go in, we take over Braizia by force. That’ll show those barbarians what for! Enslave the lot of them.”

I lashed out. “Vlassis, we are not slavers! We just fought the largest war on the Peninsula since Markos’ rebellion, to obtain our own freedom! Whatever grudge you hold against Braizen or Humanity, you will quickly find yourself isolated in new Aelythium.” With Vlassis begrudgingly sitting back down, I looked to the rest of my followers. “Well, does anyone have a good idea?”

“We go in, we start cracking heads.” Vissarion stated, shrugging. “Not much more to it, is there?”

“We could try to reinstate their monarchy, securing their loyalties.” Takis stated.

“Ah, it's always you with this monarchy stuff, Takis!” Vissarion slammed the table. “You would happily be under the boot of Markos should he return, wouldn’t you?”

“Stop making wild accusations, Vissarion! The Stravox dynasty is dead, but we have to account for the culture of the Braizens.”

“You’re more human than you are Aitherios, I'll give you that Takis.”

“Enough!” I shouted. “We will work with Roparzh to keep his sons in check while we transition to having Braizia know that Chrysos still rules over them. Braizens make up the second largest population in Aelythium, likely third once the Aitherioi grow. If Braizia is secured, that’ll be one less enemy to face.” I shifted in my seat, taking a paper and sliding it the back of the long list of issues Aelythium still faces. “Now, onto the Army and Navy.”

“Exciting as always. The old Aelythian army couldn’t even handle a few rebels!” Pelagia chuckled to herself, having lost all interest in the conversation.

“The Aelythian Army was all over its border and spread thinly by the time we showed up. Could it have rallied, it’d likely be a strong force. Sadly, we aren’t able to strengthen it any more than we have. Nikolaos, a prominent captain under Takis during the assault on Chrysos, will be promoted to lead the Aelythian Army going forward.”

“A man with no talent…” Vissarion spoke under his breath.

I pretended to not hear it. “Nikolaos will continue to be trained to lead the rather large force that has been rallied. Iakovos, a new Aitherios will be sent to Myranthos and learn how to command the navy. Field promotions will continue from that point onward.” I turned to Rafail, who had been silent all morning. “Rafail, what is the report on Thalmonia?”

Rafail sat straight. “Thalmonia and the Merchants were easy enough to secure. They accepted some debts being canceled with the technicalities involved. I even dined with some Patriarchs about the debts.”

Pelagia rested her head on the back of her hands. “How lovely Rafail. Did you drink and eat like them as well?” she was clearly being sarcastic.

“You don’t have to be so insulting, Pelagia. The Merchants and I have settled the debts, which I believe can be paid in less than a decade if we wish.”

“We will try. But we can’t make any promises.” I took a paper and placed it behind the rest. It was mostly just the debts that Rafail had already shared to me in private. “Next on the agenda… Ah yes, Rebellions.”

Finally, I had caught the attention of the likes of Pelagia. “Rebellion!? Already?”

“Rebels. Mostly the remnants of the theme of Thronakria, who didn’t make it to Chrysos in time. They have taken residency in Kosos, and we’ll need someone here to manage as Nikolaos is still getting set up for his position. Any takers?”

“I’ll go there, Grigorios.” Takis had instantly risen from his seat. “I always wanted to have a look at Thronakros.”

“Don’t just go there for sightseeing, Takis. Take your retinue and crush them after we’re done today. We can’t have that wound fester.”

“Understood, Grigorios.” Takis sat as quickly as he had risen.

“With Avra’s pacification of the east wrapping up, I believe someone should go east and meet her at Markone. While Avra has done well to conquer the east, we want someone who knows what to talk about when meeting with the Merchants of Markone, on how we shall pay our debts.”

Athanasios raised his hand enthusiastically. “I know all about that area, Grigorios! I know all about the merchants and their love of money- and will inform them that they’ll be repaid.”

“Very well. You’ll be set off with your troop to Markone. Tell Avra personally of the happenings in the capital while you’re there.” I flipped over the papers once more. There at the back of the pile was a note, marked with the seal of the city council. “Here we have a letter of complaint from the city council.”

“What do they have to complain about?” Vissarion flatly stated. “That we’re treating Chrysos as if we occupy it?”

I opened the note and read it to myself quickly. “No, they wish for more funding for projects. Rebuilding, mostly. They list some destroyed bakeries, a church, many homes-”

“Why the hell do they need funding!? They’re a temporary council!” Pelagia bursted out unexpectedly.

“Pelagia, we can’t simply manage everything ourselves! Their knowledge of the city will help our council keep a priority on rebuilding Chrysos-”

Pelagia cut me off once more. Her normally bored attitude did a complete one eighty. “They wish for bakeries, for churches, for homes! But they act like any of these things are needed right now! A large portion of Chrysos was- let's not beat around the bush- slaughtered! Thousands of lives were lost in the fires and blades of rebellion, and they want to build bloody pastry shops!?”

“Perhaps the human populace should try and eat bark for a change?” Vlassis said, chuckling to himself.

Pelagia continued on. “They wish to build bakeries for those who can’t afford bread, churches for those who’ll not provide alms, and homes for those who aren’t even alive! We can find better ways to spend money than simply bowing down to nobles, property owners and Servons!”

“You sound a lot like a Courtier of Kryptos, Pelagia!” Athanasios clasped his hands together, revelling in Pelagia’s woes.

“Damn the Stravox, Athanasios, and damn you too!”

“You know Pelagia, you’re smart. Too smart. How about you spend a little of that smartness actually thinking instead of whatever the hell you’ve been writing about.”

“Instead of adding to the conversation, you criticize my theories! That is so like you, Athanasios. You spend so much time looking at sparkling gold to be unable to even think about the future. Do you have anything else to add?”

“Perhaps if you didn’t have such a big mouth, I’d actually listen to your theories!”

Pelagia almost leaped over the table to get her hands on Athanasios, only stopped by Amoros getting a tight bound around her. Everyone else got out of their chairs, clearly surprised by the outburst.

“Let go of me, Amoros! I want him dead!”

Athanasios was clearly amused, though clearly positioned himself behind his chair to use as cover if Amoros lost grip. “Damn wild dog!”

“I’ll show you this wild dog isn’t all bark, you Sow!”

“All of you! Sit back down! Now!” I had gotten out of my chair, clearly frustrated. “You act like spoiled children! Think for ten minutes about the consequences, and sit. Down!”

Amoros loosened their grip, allowing Pelagia to rest back in her chair, who still stared daggers at Athanasios even as everyone returned to their seats. I sat back ibn my chair. “What are we to do then, ignore the council’s pleas to build Chrysos back up, after having just established it?”

“We should at least think of rebuilding the homes and feeding those who are unable to afford bread.” Amoros finally spoke up, having been listening very closely to the conversations but not adding them.

“Ah, Alms!” Vissarion replied. “The golden proof that the monarchy did the bare minimum to hold power.”

“Talking of alms is easy for people who don’t have to eat.” Rafail budded in. “We’d need to get more food heading towards Chrysos itself, without getting raided by bandits.”

“Well we’ve got a bunch of bored warriors who could do that, don’t we?” Vissarion gestured to the exit of the palace. “Get the Aitherioi who can’t be bothered to clean up the rubble to scare the rabble!”

“We’d be painting a big target on those carts, but it may be the only play. Though we would be going back in terms of helping the city council we established.” Rafail turned to me. “What is your take, Grigorios?”

“We’ll give alms and continue the process of rebuilding the city. Churches and bakeries can wait, actual food needs to get into the city for them to serve any use.” I looked around at the tables, waiting for any snide comments, but none seemingly arrived. “If no one has anything else, I will relay this to the city council.” I overturned the page, seeing that we would continue on later today. “That is all for now. You are dismissed until the evening.”

I could feel the tensions of the meeting instantly dissipate, as everyone got up and headed out, some in groups talking bitterly about how they didn’t agree with certain policies. Others walked alone, either bitter from the meeting or just happy to get some fresh air. As I looked at my papers, I still saw a seat occupied. It was Takis, seemingly waiting for me to call him to attention.

“Takis, what are you still doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. In private.”

I looked around, only noticing an Aitherios sweeping the floor which seemed to be a daily thing with how large the throne room was. “Well, we’re about as private as we’re gonna get while staying here, outside of heading to my own private chambers. What do you have to talk about?”

“Grigorios, I’m… worried.”

“Ah, aren’t we all? The possibility of an internal rebellion is always present Takis but we’ll handle it-”

“It’s not that, Grigorios. It’s… Them. The followers.”

I could already tell where this conversation was heading, but simply had to fein as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Oh? What about them?”

“They don’t seem as amiable as I figured. At the height of the rebellion, it seemed as though we were all united in the cause, even with our disagreements. Now, however, I worry if their interests are starting to become more and more personal. I’ll fear they can’t be entirely trusted.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well, have you heard from them? Vlassis sounds like he’d rather enslave the Humans then hear their complaints! I don’t know what grudge he holds against them, but it’s affecting his judgement. Same with Vissarion. While not calling for their enslavement, he wants to deal with everything in a martial matter, which wouldn’t do any wonders for us. Then, there’s Pelagia, who… I don’t even understand. They seem perpetually bored, but rumors are her theories are delving more and more into being radical. And we don’t even know what Avra’s opinions are, as she’s still fighting to unite the Peninsula! That leaves Athanasios, Rafail, Amoros, and me with any sort of level headedness, and I don’t even know if that’s true for Athanasios.”

“So, my followers have opinions. What of it?”

“What of it? They could go crazy and kill you, Grigorios! They can’t be trusted.”

“Then what do you suggest, Takis?”

Takis pointed to himself confidently. “Make me your successor, Grigorios.”

I scoffed. “And I should trust you unlike the rest of them?”

“If someone isn’t a successor, Grigorios, it could fracture the entire country yet again. Them killing you or someone else, I don’t know if we could work to keep any of this together! You’re the only one we seem to listen to, Grigorios. And if you die, what then? Chaos.”

“There would be chaos either way, Takis. And marking you as a successor may make me look as if I’m favoring you. Vissarion already has suspicions! To make you the next in line to lead Aelythium is a dangerous proposition.”

“Just say that I, as the first follower, would be the next in line to be leader, and that it would be followed suit with Vissarion. Even if they don’t agree with it, they’d have to accept it!”

What Takis had said confirmed my worst suspicions. Not only did it seem as though the followers shared little in common with one another, they were actively plotting against each other. I could not believe it even as Takis himself spoke, wanting to be designated heir even as I lived.

“You know the repercussions that would come from naming you as successor, Takis? It not only makes me go back on my previous idea of a council of equals, but makes me look weak.”

“First among equals, then? The country would fall into chaos if you were to die without an heir!”

Takis made me begin to wonder about my own mortality, and his own abilities. With my death, I didn’t believe any one of my followers could lead, especially after long debates over petty issues. I believed that I'd still live for decades, where the abilities of my followers would improve. They just needed time. Time that Takis at least, didn’t think I had. I had known Takis since the first sparks of rebellion, summoned by my own hand and appointed by my will, and now I had lost all idea of his intentions. Did he seriously believe him being a successor would save Aelythium were I to fall? Or was it all one small move to undermine me? I had been cornered by my follower, backed to the wall over an issue that had been pushed to the forefront. I had to say something.

“Very well, Takis. I’ll inform the rest of the followers at the meeting tomorrow.”

Takis seemed elated, bowing before me at such a speed and force that any faster would’ve caused him to trip and fall. “Thank you, Grigorios, I will never thi-”

I stopped him before he could praise my words further. “Just know that you aren’t my successor yet. Tomorrow has not come yet, has it?” I placed all my papers in order, standing up from my chair.

“Of course Grigorios!” Takis moved to exit, but just before he left, he once more bowed, in a more formal and stable position than previously. I could only help but nod for his retreat, taking my papers to my chambers as I had every night. Every night, I sighed, as I turned to the large table next to my bed. It had on it hundreds of papers, it was separated into three piles: the left, was what we had finished talking about and had been implemented. It numbered a dozen sheets or so. In the middle was what would be talked about tomorrow, which was up to me to organize.

On the right, was what needed to be discussed. Hundreds of pages, letters, and documents all laid in an unorganized mess. I placed most of the papers in my hands on the right, and only one sheet would be added to the left. The establishment of Bureaucracy to deal with the more minor issues was somewhere in the middle of it. Though I imagined eight separate opinions on how to organize it, each more radical than the one before it. It became harder and harder to imagine a commonality among the nine of us, harder still as the opinions became more and more radicalized. The Enemy within, the enemy without. I could not hold onto paranoia even now.

MAP UPDATED (January 2nd, 2022)

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by The Anarchy of Aelythium

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Read factbook

The St. Holm Trial

Some time had passed, Karl had achieved his victory over the Viscount, however things where not over yet, there was still the issue of the trial. For years the Viscount had been working in the shadows, together with other nobles, without the knowledge of Karl, to dethrone him and take the crown for himself, at first it was but a rumour, but as things started developing it became a fact.

The day Karl got hold of the situation, he made everything possible to curtail his powers, powers inherited by his father, who worked to grow the Duchy to its current strength, without triggering much of a revolt amongst the nobles that supported the Viscount's cause, but it was already too late, useless even. When the "Bergsstaden Issue" came up, Karl finally got his chance to hit the Viscount where it hurt him the most. The Royal Games where held honouring an ancient law and tradition that allowed anyone, no matter his background, to gain a title, the Viscount, of course showed up to defend his title and Karl in a burst of rage decided to compete, much to everyone's surprise, but it was all fair and square, since there was nothing that said the king could not participate.

The games went smoothly for the most part until the hunting game, Karl almost died when he almost fell from a cliff, luckily for him he was saved by another of the contestants, a man by the name of Itvar, a skilled hunter. The tourney, which was the last of the games, turned out to be a rotund success for Karl, as he came on top. Unfortunately for Karl, when everything was over, he placed 3rd, but for him it was still a success since the Viscount came in 6th place. With the games over Karl move over to the issue of the trial.

Karl had a fear that this trial would cause a revolt of his noble against his reign, inspired by none other than the Hallish Revolt happening in neighbouring Syrduria, the Viscount had built a powerful connection with many of the nobles, meaning that they would be willing to raise a sword in his name, even if it was against their own king. The political game was a tough one and in Eskeland, those who you think less of might be the most dangerous ones.

The trial would take place at Vindheim, home of the Riksdag, Karl made sure to send a letter to every noble that made up the jury, from the dukes to the barons, none could be left out in what could be one of the most important trials in the country's history, Karl also invited the most influential citizens from the Viscount's Duchy of Helsingstad to assist as representatives to their people during the trial, it was required that in this sort of trials, the commoners assisted.

Days later, everyone began gathering, Vindheim had never seen such an influx of people since its founding. Nobles in their carriages, and those of less status, in their horses, lined up the streets to the Riksdag, where the trial would be held, it almost seemed like a parade. Karl was already inside the building waiting for everyone, Georg the Duke of Apenstad and Ranaeril the Duke of Ljubov where there with him too, the three formed the High Tribunal, and entity formed by the king and the two most influential and powerful nobles in the country, it served as the ultimate form of judgment after the jury gave their statements.

Finally they all started coming in, each taking their seat according to their status , Karl watch carefully for the Viscount, eventually coming last, half an hour later, Karl, of course, was angry, but he did not show as to not give the Viscount the pleasure of it. Karl sat down in his throne, everyone took their seat as well, per tradition, Karl began the trial by tapping the floor with his special golden sceptre, a sceptre made specifically for use on trials, everyone went quiet as the king began speaking.

"I must begin by welcoming everyone here and thank you all for coming to this trial, with the exception of Miroslav here, who must have gotten lost on his way here, taking in account the hour he came in, as I understand a man of his stature has never dared to graced us with his presence around this area" with that last bit of directed towards the Viscount, invoking laughter from some of the nobles, Karl finished giving his short welcoming speech.

The Viscount didn't even blink at the remark, and as always, as it was his style, he responded back "Not at all my king, I simply chose the scenic route, I just had to admire the beauty of the country on my way here, winter is my favourite season of the year, and I wouldn't dare to miss one bit of it"

This triggered Georg who found the response disrespectful, "Silence Miroslav, that's no way of addressing your king, unless you want your tongue cut off.", Karl motioned Georg to calm down.

Karl turned towards the Viscount and spoke, "Miroslav, under the Law of Fair Trial established by my father, King Johann, you will not be addressed by your title, but simply by your name, for the duration of the trial." Miroslav just nodded, "Miroslav, you are here today accused of mistreatment of your subjects, and treachery against your king and you country, nobles and citizens of lower classes alike, have gather here today to give their testimony, either in your favour or against it, you will be given fair judgment by the tribunal depending on the outcome of the trial, understood?"

Miroslav once more nodded and Karl gave his last remark "Very well, let us formally begin this trial." Miroslav took the opportunity and began speaking, not a hint of fear could be seen in his face, he was ready to face anything "Your majesty, I stand here falsely accused, I have not mistreated my subjects and I have by the grace of the gods, not betrayed you or the country, I have enemies everywhere as you know, and they seek any opportunity to bring me down, so it's no wonder they must have fabricated these false claims of betrayal to finally get back at me"

Ranaeril and Georg watched carefully what Miroslav said, exchanging whispers, truth is, both of them were planning something, they had proof, but not enough to expose him, they had to wait for him to screw up something so they could put forward their evidence, and in such they had to pay attention to Miroslav and everyone else.

After Miroslav finished, Karl spoke "You say there's people who wish to see you ousted and your reputation tarnished? If that's the case, from the audience in here, point out those who you speak of and allow them to present their testimony."

Miroslav proceeded and pointed out 3 individuals, The Baron Gratt, The Viscount Floden and the Lord Skarhamn, "Them, they've been plotting my downfall!" The Viscount Floden stood up "It is true, but we three have been working together to bring peace and justice to the real, and here's the proof!" said as he pointed at some papers, The Lord Skarhamn also stood up, "Those there, your majesty, are the results of years of investigation into Miroslav's devious ways, corruption! We have there the proof of the rampant corruption in his court promoted by Miroslav himself, he's been covering all of this up by also bribing the officials.", Miroslav however did not seem worried about it.

Karl requested to be handed over the papers, Floden handed them over and Karl spoke, "Thank you, now, we will review in more details these papers when the break comes, anyways, Is there anything you wish to say to these Miroslav?" Miroslav said "No your majesty, but I have here papers that reveal the truth of those affairs." as he took some papers from his pockets, "You see your majesty, those may speak of corruption, but the reality is that those are outdated, they are from my father's administration, I have been fighting to eradicate the corruption in my court, I show's it all here, the numbers say it all, here, let me give you these, give them a good look and you'll see I speak the truth"

Georg, reviewed the papers and found some errors in many of the reports, he compared both, and saw that the ones put forward by Miroslav made no sense, especially when it came to the monthly collection of taxes, this raised the first red flag for Miroslav, Georg ordered one of the servants to bring him the income reports from the times of Miroslav's father, meanwhile, the trial continued.

Ranaeril sensing it was the best time, decided to speak "My lord if you may excuse me, I can't stay quiet, I have myself things to say myself.", "Go ahead." said Karl, "Thank you your majesty." looking towards Miroslav, Ranaeril began by clearing his throat, then he spoke "Miroslav, according to what the documents Floden gave us, I saw that some of the money has gone to supplying an army of mercenaries of considerable size, nothing you could say it's for personal protection, and I have been receiving reports from many concerned citizens that indeed an army of mercenaries has been gathering somewhere, and on top of that, they've been hearing from some of the mercenaries themselves that they've been receiving money from some powerful patron, care to explain?"

In motion of agreement with what Ranaeril said, many of the nobles began saying "hear, hear", Karl on the other hand, sprung up when he heard of the mercenaries, it seemed familiar to him, but he couldn't pinpoint or remember even, what that could have been related to, he decided to leave that aside for a moment and continue with the hearing.

Miroslav raised his eyebrow to Ranaeril's words, curious about what he had just recently said, "Mercenaries? Never heard of that, the tax money is not going to the funding of some mercenary army, I can assure you that you majesty, I have no idea how could they come up with that in their report." Some nobles could be seen whispering in the back benches, something caught up their attention.

The servant that Georg sent, came back with the documents and he carefully began comparing and analyzing the papers, more errors popped up, and stuff in general stopped making sense, Georg could only come to the conclusion that Miroslav was lying about the taxes, clearly detailing that he had been siphoning funds for some side project, Georg whispered to Karl and informed him of the details, then did the same with Ranaeril.

Back at it Karl once more spoke, "Miroslav, we shall talk more about those mercenaries at the end, but for now, it's time for the commoners to speak, they have come in good faith to report the mistreatment, they say that your soldiers have been coming monthly to extort the poor farmers to give them money and supplies and if they denied they would sack the villages and if any of that came out they would kill them all, all in your name this is probably the worst accusation here of all of them, and if it turns out true you might not see the light of day anymore, only the gods will judge you afterwards."

Miroslav looked surprised at the knowledge of that, he almost had no idea what to say, everyone could finally see Miroslav front crack under such accusations, but he had to save face and defend himself, "Your majesty this is horrifying, I swear this is the first time I ever hear of this, I never sent any of my soldiers to extort my subject much less threaten them with death, someone must be trying to discredit me every way possible."

"I don't buy it Miroslav" Said The Lord Kursk "I know you're behind this, my people keep telling me they saw you from the distance giving the orders and afterwards riding away", hear hear, said the nobles again, The Baron Oakham nodded in agreement "Tis' true, I saw you myself burning a tea plantation near Kumberg together with that traitorous bastard of The Lord Haidegg."

"Excuse me?" Said the Lord Haidegg "I'm a loyal member of the crown and man of morality and decency, I would never do such a thing, maybe it was you with that Harlot wife of yours! They say in court she's a great kisser" Haidegg laughed.

"Oi oi, what's this then? How dare you! My wife is a pious person she would never dare to do such a thing, why don't you go back to that decrepit castle of yours and fix it for once, or what, no money? Oh poor you, if you didn't spend it all giving it away to Miroslav and his wicked cause you traitor!" said Oakham infuriated.

"Go to hell Oakham, why don't you fight me for once instead of hiding away like a coward!" said Haidegg before Karl interrupted, "Enough! Enough the both of you I say, every time I swear, but anyways, Miroslav, many seems to agree that you're responsible for this, I don't know what to say"

"I do." Said Ranaeril, "Say all you want Miroslav but we all know of your deals with the many nobles of this kingdom, you bribed them to your cause, the same ones that today attend this trial, you want the throne for yourself, and you are willing to start a civil war, don't think I haven't caught wind of your plans, you're a traitor! And you deserve a traitor's death!"

"I'm a traitor? Preposterous! I don't know where all of this accusations have come from but I can assure everyone here that they are false! The bribes, the mercenaries, the rogue soldiers, all false! Only know I'm hearing of any of this!"

"Liar! All of the lies!" Said Ranaeril, Karl hit the table with his fist angry at all the noise "Silence! I have heard enough from both sides, we shall now take some time to think of the sentence, you can all take some time to rest while we discuss. Karl, Georg and Ranaeril spent the next 20 minutes analyzing and discussing until they all came to an agreement. Everyone was called back in to take their seats. Miroslav looked nervous, the first time in his life everyone had seen him that way, but nothing he could do would change the outcome.

Karl stood up to give the final verdict, doing a quick mental review he wasn't sure of it, something didn't click with him during the whole trial, but what was done was done, and everyone gave their word, and Karl did not feel like vetoing the decision either way, so clearing his throat he looked at Miroslav, "Miroslav, the tribunal has come to a conclusion... due to the big amount of evidence against you, that seems to be correct, and what you have given us doesn't prove correct, you have been branded a traitor, thus you have been sentenced to.... death by hanging, tomorrow at 9 am you will be executed in the main plaza, guards, take him to prison." With this Karl ended the trial by tapping his sceptre on the ground.

Miroslav couldn't believe what he heard, as the guards took him away he begged but it was received by booing from the nobles and commoners alike, outside the Riksdag, a group of citizens awaited to hear what would be of Miroslav, when they saw the guards take him away, they threw rocks at him.

The next day the crowd gathered in the main plaza eager to see the end of one of the most hated if not the most hated man in Eskeland, the king was present ,sitting on his horse as he would depart that same day, after the execution back to Tidahamn, and most of the nobles who could afford to stay for the execution. People spoke of his impending end all around town, two of the guards in the main plaza exchanged a conversation

"I say good for the king for getting rid of him, right Isak?"

"I don't know Olle I don't think he deserved death, maybe some years in prison or something similar."

"Bah You're too soft Isak, that man was evil, not even the gods will have mercy on his soul, now come, the streets won't patrol themselves."

The clock turned 9, it was time for the execution, Miroslav was given the chance to say something before dying, but he refused and only told them to get over with it, a priest proceeded to give him the last rite, but losing his patience Miroslav just said "For the love of Gidur, just get over with it!", The guard pulled the lever and it was over, the most powerful man after the king and one of the most hated if not the most hated, was out forever. Karl felt that something was not right, maybe what he thought of him in the past might not have been true, but he brushed those feelings aside, what was done was done, he handed a letter over to a courier "Here, find his son wherever he may be and give him this letter, tell him to come back home, he has a duchy to run.", the courier departed and so did Karl.

In an alleyway two rather suspicious looking men conversed, one passed the other a letter and said "Give this to the master, with haste, tell him the deed is done, Miroslav... is no more."