The Third Son

[Old Man Boiendl 1454]

 (this is something I was asked to write by ThatPyroDude. I figured why not. As always I have too much free time on my hands.) 

 

 Read it Here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1t1tkahu1uY6JrZuq0BfCfMiYK3Em9v4qgGDDU2Yjvx4/edit?usp=sharing

 

 

The Third Son

By Crown Prince William James Horen I

I. 

Spoiler

 

              In the heat of an unusually warm Malin’s Welcome, and in the middle of the afternoon, a boy sets himself down in a chair beside a fountain. Given brown hair with a red tinge by his parents, the boy was average in height and size. His stature was not the larger than life build of those who came before him. In the company of rose bushes and the pitter-patter of the fountain he shuts his young eyes and dreams. As his mind wanders and he inhales the smells of the Palace garden, visions of adventure, great battles and magnificent voyages flash before his eyes. Dreams of leaving the Capital and joining his youthful companions on tales that would stretch for generations encapsulated him.

 

              His boyhood aspirations were reinforced by his upbringing. Put in the tutelage of some of the brightest minds that the Empire had to offer, the boy grew as a young scholar and apt statesman. But still, he longed for a different life. He wanted to live a hero's life. As the third born son he was never meant to live the life he did. He was not meant to be Emperor. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he would fall victim to fate and lead a life he was not prepared to lead.

 

               Nearly two decades later, the boy now man returned to the place he sat so long ago. Emperor Philip Frederick the First looked towards the fountain and like when he was a boy his mind wandered with the jubilant thoughts of adventure and escape. Though now ruler of much of the earth, he still did not rule his own fate. Nor did he have time to dream like he did in youth. His hair now flexen, discolored through years of stress and uncertainty. Despite his appearance he was still young. What had spurred his visit to his boyhood retreat was a series of events unfolding that he had little control over. The eyes of the Emperors before him bore down on him.

 

              A feeling gripped his gut, twisting it and making it a knot. The feeling which was spurred on by his Minister of Interior, Edmond Manston and other advisors was the result of a brazen response to an entourage of ne'er do wells so bold and brazen as to betray his trust and in doing so the Empire. As punishment and to make an example to the other traitors, Philip had their heads meet the floor of the Palace throne room and to fill the cracks and crevices of the palace with a red flood.

 

              With a heavy sigh, Philip turned from his boyhood ambitions and again passed the threshold of the Palace Garden, into the Throne Room where he was met by a frenzy of advisors and war planners.

 

 

 II.

Spoiler

 

              Sitting in the Imperial Throne, Philip looked over those who came to petition him. The crowd that gathered was usually minor nobility, the sort who came to his feet to plead for more land or more wealth. The sun filtered in through the glass panes that depicted the victories hard fought by the rulers before him. The panes gave the light a multi-colored hue as it danced on the floor of the throne room.

 

              Outside the Palace, the City of Johannesburg which grazed the clouds with its spires and Cathedral was becoming ever more busy. Gripped with the events that had occurred a mere fortnight before, the City now ran rampant with rumours of an exile returning to Tahn. As the rumor spread like wild-fire, the populace only became more restless. Be it true townsfolk or foreigners under the guise of the Citizenry, rioters began to gather frequently outside the Imperial Legion Garrison. It became a common sight to see man pushing man, flesh against flesh in a street battle to keep the crowds back from storming the garrison.

 

              A courier, laden in brown raced into the Capital. From the High Walled Gate he passed the Garrison struggling with the rioters. Past the Royal Gull he went and made his way through the exuberant noble district. Up the grand stairs of the Palace and soon barging into the Throne room, the courier held high a letter from the Grand Duke of Lorraine.

 

            “A missive from Metz, your Imperial Majesty, sent with much urgency!” The Courier gasped, he stumbled over to the throne and handed the letter to a guard who then gave it to the Emperor.

 

             Taking the letter, Philip opened it. He looked it over, his eyes widened and the letter fell to the ground. He rose from the throne. His gaze burdened the shoulders of those who were near him.

 

             “Leave the throne room at once, save for my commanders and administrators!” Philip boomed, his voice carried through the hall, reverberating off of the high ceilings and wooden floor. In moments the throne room was vacant of the lower ranks.

 

             Philip turned to those who remained, Arch Chancellor Leopold I, Minister of the Interior Edmond Manston, whoever led the armies, and another guy why not.

 

             “Here in my hand is a missive from Metz which means to inform me of a rebellion knocking at my door… Who is it that so dares to unsheathe their blade at our armies you might wonder? A foolish man you would answer. But of course, for he shall meet my sword on the field. I shan’t leave you in suspense much longer… for I am sure Mister Manston here wishes to get back to his papers. The man who so rises against the crown is no other than a Staunton, Tobias Staunton.” Philip waded the letter up and tossed it onto the floor, he spat in its direction.

 

              “Look here, the Empire now has stood for too long to fall to an impish schemer, and it shan’t fall under my watch. Send a regiment out to Metz, hunt down this Staunton at once.”  

 

              The men before Philip all nodded, it was Leopold the First,  Archchancellor of the Empire who was first to speak.

“Our forces will put down the rebellion within a month’s time. From my fortress in the Westerlands, I do not see much of a threat arising from those who scheme against you, your Imperial Majesty. Nevertheless I will commit myself to removing the scourge and impurity from them.”

 

              “Very well. Be off then, all of you. The Empire must be cared for like you would a child.” Philip replied as he reclined in his throne. His gaze shifted to the doors as the small gathering filtered out. Lost in his thoughts he rehearsed battle plan after battle plan and began to make mental notes of those whom he may need the aid of. Trouble had always seemed to find its way into the hallowed halls of the Empire. The malcontents were always plotting, they called upon the youth who while imbued with great spirit and vigor, lacked wisdom and foresight. Such is the beginning of a rebellion, the sly making use of the spirited.

 

 III.

Spoiler

 

              Like ants whose colony is under attack, the Legionnaires of the Imperial Legion sprung into action. In a few short hours, posters that exclaimed “Defend your Emperor! Join the Legion!” were pasted on the walls of buildings. Damage and other weaknesses in the great walls were quickly patched and in a renewed vigor the Legionnaires went about their business. Rebels were evicted promptly and all those with a shifty and inciteful gaze were stopped for questioning.

 

             The residents of Johannesburg felt the loom of Civil War cast its foreboding gaze down onto them. Not long after the Courier had gone through the streets and to the Emperor had the Capital’s citizenry begin taking sides and pitting themselves against one another in the tavern. On an average evening in the Royal Gulle, one may hear shouts of Ave Orenia! And in the same conversation shouts calling for world not ruled by a single man.

 

            Those who felt close to their fellow countrymen made haste to the nearest recruiting station. Soon all those who were able-bodied and willing to fight were in the black and purple attire of the Legion. They stood at attention, ready to be a bulwark against an incoming force.

 

           Days after the initial readiness of Johannesburg, the first reports of clashes began to flood the streets. Those who took up arms against humanity had launched several surprise attacks on Orenian settlements in Lorraine. Men returned to the Capital, bloodied and tired. All those who returned had a gaze that could pierce even the thickest armor.

 

           The attacks from the vagrants who claim rebellion intensified. At times the rebellion would pierce the defenses of the Heartland and make brazen attacks on the Imperial Capital. Citizenry would flee, hide in their homes. The Imperial Army which was already spread thin repelled the attacks, but not before taking significant losses.

           So was the beginning of a short and unfortunate war. One that would divide families and split people. And so was the beginning of a war that would seal the fate of a boy turned Emperor.

 

 

IV. 

Spoiler

                On a cool evening, when the thought of battle loomed most heavily. The Emperor who stood on the balcony of his war room looked confidently into the night, out over his capital. He drummed the railing before turning on his feet and making his way back to the maps and reports that littered a large table. Around him was Leopold and Sir Mattington von Ironsword

 

               Clad in his Legionnaire armor, von Ironsword pointed towards the Northern most mountains. The snow capped mountains were home to the dwarves, an industrial race of half-men.

 

               “Mount Gorgon, your Imperial Majesty. The Kingdom of Urugan has aligned itself with Rebel groups. It is best that we march on the Dwarves so that they can not assist the rebels in waging war.” Mattington shook his head, he sighed slightly before looking to Leopold I

 

                 “Leave it to those who would see that Humanity fractures and dissipates to align themselves with non-humans. The Dwarves are a race of half-wits and imps. Both growth and intelligence is stunted. We will march on them swiftly.” Leopold slammed his fist down on the table, and then turned to Philip

 

                 Philip looked towards the men gathered around the table, he nods to them, “Easy now Leopold. We shall march. We will take no prisoners and show them no mercy. It will be a swift battle. Prepare my baggage train and mobilize, we shall take the Mount within the fortnight!”  Turning on his feet he marches out of the war room and into his quarters. The night would pass quickly and in the morning he would march.

 

                 The Mountain of Gorgon stood tall over its fellow Mountains. The white caps of the Mountain reflected the sun’s bright rays down onto the faces of the Legionnaires who marched to a monotonous drum beat. The cold air blew snow into the faces of the men, trudging onwards, some soldiers collapsed from the cold. Infront of the long train of soldiers was the Emperor. Mounted on his horse Whatever its name is he held his head high as the Army went forward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

VI. 

Spoiler

                  On a day where the sun was hidden by the grey clouds and the breeze blew the hair of men and women alike into their faces. The Legions of the Imperium marched solemnly back into the Capital of the Holy Orenian Empire. Unlike the army that marched from the capital a mere fortnight ago, these men returned in rags, a tattered flag of the Empire fluttered in the breeze. The citizenry of Johannesburg peered from the windows of their shelters and those who were brave watched from the streets. Rumours spread through the citizens and then through the ranks. It was the first battle the Empire had lost in decades.

 

                 The sunken face of Philip glanced to those who went onto the streets to watch. He glanced at them for only a moment before turning away. As the Emperor passed through the Arc and into the noble district, he felt the burden of the Empire weigh on him. The nobility would not accept the loss.

 

                 Back in the Throne Room Philip returned to his throne. His head in his palm he looked to his advisors, Leopold and his entourage of Westerlanders were silent.

 

                 “How?” Philip muttered “Well! How?” he shouted, making eye contact with Leopold.

 

                  Leopold took  a step back, unfamiliar with the tone of the Emperor he stayed the hand of some of his men. “It was a fluke. The mountains proved more burdensome to our supply train than was first anticipated. We wi-”

 

             “We will not allow this to happen again!” Philip shouted, cutting Leopold off. “Be gone…” he said quietly

 

             “Yes, your Imperial Majesty. Come men.” The Archchancellor glanced to his entourage and left the Emperor, leaving him to wallow in his own defeat.

 

              Philip was left alone. It was not a rare occurrence for this sense of loneliness. As the third son of Emperor John the Third, he was often left to his own devices. Left to meander through the gardens and empty palace halls. His brothers were charioted away often by his father, to be squired and educated in preparation for running the Empire.

 

             The grey clouds which haunted the Army as they returned to the city grew darker and soon rain fell, battering the window like swords against shields. The Throne room in its emptiness carried a draft which brought with it a stale air. Philip sat on his throne staring at the doorway into the throneroom.

 

              Philip who continued to stare at the doorway began to shout, “God hear me, as your messenger to the masses and guardian of Humanity. Strike me down! Smite me where I stand or send an assassin through the door in front of me!”

 

              The night was dark. The thundering clouds blocked out the glow of the moon  and stars. The howling winds and branches against windows brought the sound of battle to Philip and his army. Sleep did not come easy to those who suffered at the hands of fate. Philip was seen wandering the Palace halls, staring at the portraits of his ancestors, lost in his own despair.

 

 

VII. 

Spoiler

                Emerging from his Palace several days after his return, Philip surrounded by his entourage descended the Palace steps and marched into the City.  The weather had lifted but the Earth had cooled significantly. Now at the beginning of [fall], the leaves began to change color, the harvest from the golden wheat fields was beginning to flow into the Capital.  

 

               The Emperor and his entourage from the noble district moved into the main square. Like the sound of a slight breeze rustling up against one, whispers and rumors were abound.

 

              “He’s paranoid… “

 

               “What will happen to the Empire?”

 

               “The Rebels are advancing…”

 

              Rumors within Johannesburg moved like rooftop fires. Spreading quickly from building to building, ear to ear. Small whispers grow into roaring shouts. A voice from the crowd shouts out,

 

            “He’s doomed the Empire! Down with him!”

 

            A rotten tomato then flew out from the crowd and landed on one of the guards. The crowd erupted in cheers and soon rotten food was flying at the Emperor and his guards. A shadow moved within the crowd, snaking its way through the citizenry and to the front. From the middle of his entourage, Philip spotted the glint of the sun in the eye of the shadowy figure.

 

          “Assassin!” Philip shouted out, “Get him!”

 

           The entourage began to retreat from the town square. A few guards moved from the group and into the crowd to try and apprehend the accused. But the would-be assassin slipped through the clutches of the Imperial forces. Moving swiftly through the crowd the assassin made his way far into the city, hidden by the filth of the city.

 

            The Emperor moved back into the Palace. His heart racing, sweat beading on his forehead, he leaned against a wall of his throne room. It was not the first attempt on his life, but to come now, where hope runs low and tensions are high, the assassin could have been hired by anyone.

 

           Philip looked to his head Nauzican, “Who was it, who sent the assassin? House de Savoie? The Church? Who?!”

 

        “Unfortunately your Imperial Majesty, we failed to apprehend the assailant. We are unsure of who it could be.”

 

         Philip shook his head, dark rings began to form under his eyes from lack of sleep. He was up all hours of the night, wrapping his mind around potential paths to victory.  But as every night passed the paths seemed to narrow. In his outward behavior and  speeches to his Officers and Advisors he attempted to remain confident in his Legion’s ability. But there were seeds of doubt that had sprouted and taken hold of him.  The possibility of an assassin being so brazen to make an attempt on his life in public only watered the plants that bore with them doubt.

 

        He moved from his throne room and into the warroom. It was quieter than before the battle. Looking over the map Philip recognized that they would have to march again.

 

        “Where are they going now?” Philip looked over to Mattington

 

         “They are attempting to set up a Siege Camp outside Metz. I believe that they’re trying to coerce Lorraine into abandoning you.” Mattington pushed a small flag from Johannesburg to the fields outside Metz “I will prepare the men.”

 

 

VIII.  

 

Spoiler

 

              In the opening hours of the day, under a crisp fall breeze, the Legions of Oren marched from Johannesburg. Once again at the helm, Philip rode on his steed. Forcing a smile on his face and a false sense of confidence he pushed on through the rolling hills and quaint towns of the heartlands. The hearths of these towns dotted the sky with trails of smoke rising above the towns. The fields were golden and ready to be harvested. It was a scene that brought solace to Philip. It had been many years since he had last taken in the sights of the Empire. All too often was he locked away in the Capital, tending to the politics of nobility and appeasement of the masses.

 

             The townsfolk of the small towns welcomed the passing army. It was all too common for the Heartlands to be at the epicenter of Civil War and Rebellion. A Heartlander knew the risks of losing the Empire so they oft’ supported the Legion the best they could. The War that the Empire had been thrusted into was much more than a rebellion against the Crown. It was a war between two peoples, the Heartlanders and the Northerners.

 

            Under the falling red and orange leaves of fall, the Imperial Legion made its way to a small stream. With haste they pitched camp. High black and purple tents went up. The flags of the Imperium towered over the changing colors of the trees. The armorers compiled weaponry, cleaning and prepping them for the coming battle. Footmen were scurrying around the camp like worker-ants. A small assortment of wooden palisades were constructed and guards were stationed along the perimeter.

 

            As the sun began to set, and it’s warm orange glow was cast over the Camp. Philip clad in his black armor, the very same style that Horen V had worn, went from his tent and into the heart of the camp. He strode towards the fire at the center of the camp, the cool air nipped at his bare extremities. He sat down placing his hands out infront of the fire. Beside him were lowly footmen, poorly armored and poorly trained they had only recently joined the legions after the Capital went on large recruitment drives. Expecting adventure and to return to the City a hero many joined. But those who did join were unlucky. As the Capital was slowly cut off from the mines and its supply chains faltering, pure metals were becoming hard to come by. Much of the armor was quickly made, often lacking the proper casting and metal-working.

 

          One footman looked over to his left, immediately taken aback by the presence of the Emperor he jumped to his feet and offered a salute.

 

         “Ave Orenia, Long Live the Emperor!”

 

         Philip waved dismissively and looked over to the footman, “Sit, save your breath, save your energy. There is still much to be done before we may jump to our feet. Where do you hail from footman?”

 

        The legionnaire was surprised at Philips casual conversation, he sat down and looked momentarily into the fire before  , casting his brown eyes aside not meeting Philips gaze, the pale and freckled spotted boy responded “I am from the Capital, I grew up out on the fields no more than a half mile from her gates. My father was a farmer, he did not have much but what he lacked in wealth he made up for in faith and loyalty to the Empire.”

 

       “A farmer is just as noble as an Emperor. He is the backbone of our nation, he provides for the people. Tell me, what is your name?” The Emperor patted the boy's shoulder, he must’ve been no more than seventeen.

 

         “I am Patrick Marlow, I joined to escape the harvest season and help protect my home.”

 

         The sun had set now. The Moon rose over the camp. The water reflected the glow of the stars and the moonlight bounced off the stream. It was a peaceful evening, a sense of calm washed over the camp. The breeze that had nipped at the Emperor before had settled. All that could be heard was the pleasant talking of the soldiers and warm crackling of the fire that Philip sat before. It was for Philip as close as he was going to get to the adventures he often dreamed about in boyhood. Sitting beside companions, preparing to run face first into danger. He looked directly into the fire, the orange glow reflected in his eyes.

 

        “In the days and weeks, no, in the months and years, Patrick. We will remember evenings like this as getting as close to the Seven Skies as possible while still alive. It is in our old age we will look back now and be glad we marched to defend the Empire. Or else how would we be able to sit in the calming evening air under the stars, with our companions beside us?” Philip sighed, he got up from his seat and pat Patrick on the shoulder. “Rest, the night grows late and we must march early.”

 Patrick sat in silence as the Emperor left to return to his tent. He was confused by the encounter. His youth in the fields had not prepared him to have such a personal conversation with such  a noble figure.

 

Spoiler

 

IX.

 

           A crash of thunder awoke Philip. Well-rested from the previous night, he stepped out of his tent to be greeted with a heavy rain. He watched as his soldiers darted through mud, some slipping as they ferried weaponry back and forth. It was the dawn of battle and conditions were not favorable. A strong northeasterly wind pushed Philips hair into his vision. Wiping his face he pressed on to the command tent. Two guards saluted him as he marched inside.

 

        Inside he met with Leopold and Mattington. The pair had been in the tent all evening, devising a bold strategy to turn the tide of the War.

 

       Philip threw his gauntlets on the large planning table that the men  stood around, “Weather be damned. How will our cavalry fair in this mud? Surely they will be weighed down in their armor.”

 

        Leopold nodded, “Correct. But we have a plan. The Imperial Legion will advance acting as a vanguard against the main force. Our crossbowmen will support the advance. Despite our lack of mobility now that we have lost our cavalry, my personal legion will attempt to flank and push them in. Hopefully we will be able to box them off.

 

        “Hammer and anvil.” Mattington chimed in as he tightened the leather straps of his boots.

 

        “How many will we lose?”

 

        “We have prepared the field hospitals to handle maximum capacity.” Mattington began to say before Leopold cut in,

 

        “It matters not how many we lose, but if this rebellion is halted or not. If we do not cut off this advance then I fear a mutiny within my own ranks, my army grows weary of marching and wish to tend to matters at home.”

 

       Philip shook his head, “They will not have a home if they stop fighting. Mattington, we must be off, Leopold I will see you on the field.”

 

        Philip took his gauntlets off the table and marched outside the camp. Mattington followed swiftly. Waving to the two guards who saluted him earlier to follow him, the small entourage began to make their way to the field.

 

        Flanked by an entourage of black clad Nauzicans, the Emperor descended upon the front lines.  There, his army who stood on the field of battle, mud-caked and wet from the rain, rejoiced as they saw their Emperor. Philip climbed a rock in front of his men and looked before them. With arms outstretched towards them, he began to speak,

 

       “Men of Johannesburg, men of Karlsburg, men of Metz, Men of Oren! Here on this muddy field, in this bountiful land we raise our swords against the scourge who dare to blight this land. The rebels think we shall be so easily defeated, that we shall lay down our arms when we see them. Ha! I say this men, we will never lay down our arms. We shall never give in to the pressures of rebellion. It is the youth who lack wisdom that rebel in such a brazen way. It is those who see no end to war and only benefit it who take up arms against peace!

 

        Lo! Look to the ramparts of our enemies, they are filled with men who have been deceived by treachery and by the false promises of nobility. They divide our people both in spirit and mind, for when they embarked on the unnoble cause of Civil War they too embarked on a cause to defeat God by creating a false priesthood! May God witness me as I take my sword to the enemy. May He be there should I fall and may He lift all of us up to the Seven Skies! For we are here on a Duty of God, and if we are to fall today He knows that in time twice our numbers shall take up the just cause of the Empire.

 

         AVE ORENIA! AVE THE IMPERIUM! AVE GOD!”

 

         In a thunderous cheer the armies of Oren repeated the triumphant shouting of the Emperor. They clattered their swords against their shields, they looked towards the Seven Skies and made peace with God. Like the beating of a drum the Legions set off on foot towards the opposing army. The rain beat down against the men, clouding their vision and making their weaponry hard to grip. But they pressed on. Through the mud they began to close in on the enemy.

The sky, while already dark from the rain grew darker than night. The little light that was offered by the sun was soon blotched out as a volley of arrows soared over the army and pierced the armors of the rebels. But just as the Legion’s volleys met the enemy, so too did the enemy’s volleys meet the legion. Men in the front of the lines collapsed as the barbed arrows pierced their armor.

 

       As the army closed the distance between the enemy, javelins began to be launched. Cutting through the sky unaffected by the rain, the javelins found their target. Cutting down swaths of men, the Legion advanced in confidence. But unbeknownst to the generals of Philip, the field had a slight incline favoring the rebels. As the soldiers advanced they found it hard not to slip and fall in the mud. A unanimous laughter could be heard from the rebel army as they closed in and began to cut down the Legion.

 

         The battle turned in favor of the rebels. Soon large numbers of legionnaires lay slain. Their poorly made armor was pierced and cut through by the rebels. Philip continued to press on. In his mind there was no retreat. His blade met the bodies of the enemy. Blood spewed out of all those who encountered him. The muddied fields took a red hue as they were stained with blood. The stream where the Legion had camped took a red tint as the runoff from the field met its pure waters.

 

        As Philip continued on he came across the soldier who sat beside him just the previous evening. Strewn out on the field, he had first been wounded by an arrow in his thigh and then a sword had been taken to his throat. In the savagery of the enemy they cut a man who could not stand down. Philip recoiled slightly. While it was not his first instance with blood and the death of a companion, it struck a chord with him. The farm-boy who enlisted to serve him fell on his behalf. The boys face was blood and mud caked. Philip staggered backwards. His mind had turned, no longer was this a fight to his end, he continued to slash his sword at the enemy as he fell back behind his own army’s lines.

 

     Baldur met the Emperor behind the lines. Philip stared blankly at him, if not seeing through him. “Retreat…” He mouthed.

 

       Soon the Legions of Oren, battered and bloodied fell back from the field. They returned to the camp where they quickly gathered the necessary equipment and returned to the Capital. In their hasty retreat many wounded were left behind, they were never to see their homes again.

 

 

 

 X.

Spoiler

 

            Philip returned to the Capital a husk of when he left. No more was he jubilant to face off the rebels. He did not march through the streets to get to the Palace. In a covered carriage he was briskly carried there. The citizenry thought it was a visiting dignitary or other noble, not the Emperor.  

 

            The weather had cleared now since the battle. Philip returned to the throne room. He stood at the foot of the steps leading to the throne. He stared at it. It’s white marble reflected the sun’s rays, giving a heavenly light to it and the surrounding area. The door of the throne room swung open and the Minister of the Interior, Edmond Manston entered.

 

            Manston had been managing the City dutifully, keeping its daily components in-check. The Minister had a well-kept appearance to him. He always wore a jacket and a vest. Both the colors of the Horen family. He had served the Emperor’s family since John the Second and continued to act as a faithful administrator to the Empire.

 

           “Your Imperial Majesty…” Manston sighed, moving closer to the Emperor. “Rumours are abound. The Citizenry believe you have died since they have not caught a glimpse of you since your return. Our tax revenue has begun to diminish and the Capital is lacking essential supplies for daily upkeep. I have done what I can to appease them, the local taverns now serve twice as many drinks as they did before the war. Many families are moving away from the Heartlands, to Karlsburg or some other city less affected by War.”

 

           Philip turned to Manston, he had yet to clean his face. The blood and mud caked it. “Mister Manston, help them move. Direct the stewards to send them away from the Capital, it is not safe for them here. Raids shall increase and it will not be safe for them.”

 

            “Of course your Imperial Majesty.” Manston turned and made his way towards the exit of the Throne room, before crossing the threshold he turned to Philip “I have known your father and his father, I have served them faithfully and I shall serve you just as  I served them. If I am too fall, let it be within the Heartlands under your service. For if the Empire were to die, surely I must too.”

 

           The Emperor nodded “Very noble for a bureaucrat.” The pair chuckled and Manston left him alone.

 

          The sunken, dark ringed eyes of Philip scanned the throne room. He was alone. His shadow was cast against the floor by the glimmer of the torches that lined the walls.

 

          Philip spotted a chalice and a wine bottle on a counter near a painting of John I. He lept to his feet and made haste towards the bottle. Throwing the chalice aside he uncorked the bottle and let the dark red of the wine flow into his mouth. He made his way to the throne and stationed himself on it. He continued to drink from the bottle, taking large gulps, not giving much time for it to sit. He continued to do so until the bottle was drained. He threw it across the room, it shattered against the floor, shards of glass going everywhere.

 

          In his drunken stupor he let out a cry from his throne and buried his head in his hands. He sat there, caked in mud and blood until the wine took hold over him and he drifted off to sleep. It was restless. Visions of the farm-boy who died flashed before him. The Johannian Emperors also made an appearance. From the Seven Skies they looked down on Philip, their anger became known and they hurled insults at him.

 

         “Should never have been Emperor!”

 

         “He has lost our life's work!”

 

         “He is no son of mine.”

 

         The night passed, the sun began to rise and still, Philip sat in his throne asleep. The servants of the palace did not dare wake him, else face his wrath.

 

 XI.

Spoiler

 

              “Your Imperial Majesty, your Imperial Majesty, wake up.” A young male's voice said, he went and nudged the Emperor “Your Imperial Majesty.”

 

                The Emperor awoke, still filthy from the night before and still slightly drunk, he looked to the boy. “What is it Caius? What do you want?”

The son of Leopold, dark haired like his father and just as clever shook his head briefly at the Emperor. The degeneracy that the Emperor had succumbed to worried him deeply. “Your Imperial Majesty, the rebellion, this time headed by the dwarves march towards the Barony of Canatal…but..” He was cut off by the Emperor

 

            “Gah! They attack Canatal, send forth our army, they will be fools to attack such a defended place.”

 

             “Your Imperial Majesty, Canatal has left the Empire.” Caius took a hesitant step back, he balled his hands behind his back and looked toward the Emperor nervously.

 

             A door swung open and from the apartments of the Imperial Family entered his sister. She was known to the citizenry of the Empire as being beautiful. Her long dark-brown hair illuminated her green eyes. Her figure was small and dainty, but like any woman of House Horen she held her own.

 

            Hesitantly she walked forward, “Philip…”

 

             “It’s your Imperial Majesty,” The Emperor responded coldly. He stepped down from his throne, the brother and sister met before the staircase to the marble seat. The Emperor looked coldly into her eyes, as if by doing so he pierced her heart.

 

           “Charlotte Sophia, allow me to ask you a question .” Philip clenched his hands behind his back, he was motionless otherwise.

 

             “Yes of course, your Imperial Majesty…”

 

            “If next month, or next week, no let us say tomorrow the rebels were to enter into Johannesburg. They were to plunder the city and make off with our women. What would you do?” Philip’s stare was cold, a shiver ran down her spine

 

             “W-well your Imperial Majesty, I would make haste to the rolling plains of Lorraine. I have many companions there…”

 

             “Traitors.” Philip harshly responded, “All of them! Tell me sister, what would you do there?”

 

              “I would serve God, mayhaps I would enter a nunnery.” Philip took a step forward as she said this, he unclenched his fists from behind his back and in one quick motion brought both of his hands to her neck. He tightened his grip, Charlotte was taken aback and she had no chance to let out a cry for help before his cold hands were wrapped around her throat.

 

              “If you wish is to serve God, why then would you flee to Lorriane? He is not there. No, He is here! And if you wish to serve God then you shall stay here with me and serve me for I am HE!” He yelled, spit flying into her face as he tightened his grip.

 

              Caius looked on silently at the situation, he was taken aback by the whole event. He quickly made haste out of the throne room and to the streets.

 

            Unhuman sounds began to emerge from his sister. His grasp tightened more, beads of sweat dropped down from his forehead. His muscles ached as he continued to tighten his grip. The face of his sister began to turn blue, blood vessels burst as her body struggled for air.  Her body recoiled as the lack of oxygen shutdown her brain. A wave of euphoria passed over her as she went into hypoxia and soon her life faded. Her body went limp but the Emperor remained there, hands tightly grasped around her throat.

 

           Caius and Leopold barged into the throne room. “Philip! Enough!” Leopold shouted at him.

 

           Philip  released  the body. Her neck was bloodied and bruised, Philips forearms ached from exhaustion. “She was not loyal, she was a traitor to the Empire!”

 

           Leopold shook his head, “You are the only traitor to the Empire. You have betrayed your father and our grandfather. You may take your Empire and have your way with it. You may rape our values and destroy our history but I shall not take part in it. No.”

 

           “What do you mean by this madness?” Philip responded, he was kneeling over his sister's body, shaking madly

 

           “I mean that I am done, I am done with this madness, I will take my army and set up the last bastion of humanity. We shall preserve what you have left out.”

 

            “Go! Leave my throne room, leave my Empire!” Philip shouted, he stumbled to his feet and returned to his throne. He looked over his sister's body and the pair before him. “But know this, they will come for you. You are of my blood, you are my kin and they will hunt us down.”

 

           The Father and Son, now protectors of humanity turned on their feet and left the throne room.

 

 

 

XII. 

Spoiler

             A fortnight passed. Fall had turned to winter and the greenery of the Capital lay barren. So too were the hearts of the Capitals remaining residents barren. In the days since the Westerlands departure from the Empire, a final realization had come over the city. The era of Oren had passed. The legions that marched across Tahn and Asul would be themselves marched over by time. The monuments which dotted the city would fall to decay and be destroyed as the Rebel army took hold over the city.

 

            There was a mutual feeling of despair among the remaining residents and soldiers of Johannesburg. Yet they were still ready to bare arms in a final defense of the Crown. The Empire was more to them than conquering others. With the founding of the Johannian Empire, a wave of peace had washed over humanity. Individuals from all walks were united in the common defense of each other.

 

           Under the cloud of this despair, several unknown shipments had entered the City. Thought to be weaponry and other armaments for the final battle, the residents merely glanced over it. But to the coffers of the Emperor, the cargo was a twenty-thousand mina well-spent. The cargo was moved into the city and set inside the dark and intricate cellars of the Palace. Those who had delivered the cargo were quickly cut down by nauzicans once they brought it into the cellar, ending all knowledge of what was delivered.

 

         The Emperor turned to his throne room. He ascended the steps to his throne and sat himself down on the marble chair. He closed his eyes and relaxed. In his boyhood aspirations, he had thought it would be enjoyable to sail. To cross the gangplank onto a triple-masted ship. To see the deep blue of the ocean push against his ship. He would cross the oceans, traveling between continents, bringing home treasure and women. The sea breeze would always be blowing his hair and his skin would stay tan from the sun. His aspirations let him stay away from the Palace. Away from the madness which was the inner-workings of the Empire. He was the third son.

 

         Philip opened his eyes and looked toward a nearby servant, “Rally my dearest Officers and Advisors, bring them here.”

 

 

XIII.

 

Spoiler

 

         A crowd had gathered in the throne room. In the crowd Philip saw his dear friend Ser Walter Marshall. As a faithful knight, Marshall had fought valiantly to preserve the Empire. The rest of the crowd had mainly consisted of servants and low-ranking officers.

 

        “So this is who hears my cry, my dear Marshall where is everyone else?” Philip said from his throne,

 

         “ They are preparing to do battle, {Malg} is not through with the fight, he is preparing to rally out and meet the enemy in the fields of the city.”

 

          “Very well.” Philip rose from his throne, still on the elevated surface which is throne sat, he moved forward. He looked over the crowd that had joined him.

 

          “We have fought in the Mountains and plains of this land. My sword has slain more enemies in one year than all my lifetime.  I will not stand idly by as my Father and His Father's work is destroyed by a rebellion.  We will not go silently into the night!

 

         I have lived steadfast and fierce, I will not kneel to the dogs of war, and my wings shall not be clipped by the greedy paws of Staunton. I live for the Empire! Ave Orenia! Ave Horen! Long Live the Emperor”

 

       Philip looked up at the ceiling of the throne room, he opened his arms wide as if embracing a heavenly figure.

 

       “Ave Orenia! Ave Horen! Long Live the Emperor!” The Crowd erupted in cheer

 

…

 

 

        The Black Legion left Johannesburg. No one spoke, no one said a word. They recognized that every step they took, they would be marching one step closer to the end. As the army both Orens and Rebels took the field a bright light washed over them. Followed the light was an ear shattering roar, it were if God had opened the heavens and sent down one thousand storms at once.

 

        The armies looked over in the direction of Johannesburg. In the city was gone. Eviscerated by the blast, there were only smoldering ruins left. In a blink of an eye, the Capital and its remaining residents were gone.

 

        Ashen snow began to fall.

 

 

 

…

 

 

---

 

 Yeah its long.

 

 

[Vetren54 368]

A very good take on it.  

[Skylez 870]

Well written, gives a great amount of depth to the events which have long since past.

 

+1

[Agnub 605]

Nice job, Boiendl.

[TinyBiceps 569]

always a good read from you

[gandalfo 1452]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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