Annexed! Work In Progress

[Shyriath]

Muhahaha! *Rubs hands together* Eeeeexcellent...

[Fax Celestis]

Quote:42 Strips Divided As Follows(1)Night hung over the village of Hure, the cool mists drifting in between the low-lying hills of Benacia. Most of the villagers were asleep, midnight having already come and gone; the pale silver light of the moon illuminated the empty streets in a pale glow, revealing no movement. Little happens in Hure in the winter, before the spring comes, the callamenni are herded out into the fields, and the tourists start pouring in. It was a sleepy place, with little reason to suspect that events of great portent were occurring.Within one of the larger houses of the village, a secret gathering had been called.(2)The house itself was an older dwelling, done in stone with thatched roofs; though it must once have been a cultured place, it was partly in ruins. Sitting on the edge of town, it was rarely visited, owned by the head of the clan ta Pennœrissa; once upon a time, they had been a powerful clan, descended from the Syrradÿn himself, but were nearly forgotten nowadays. The only people who ever came to the manor house were the strange friends and associates of the eccentric clan head, suspicious folk all, and the villagers rarely wished anything to do with them or the house.Some of these were gathered in the still-intact study of the house, along with their host, Rynnu Pendœra ta Pennœrissa. They were grim types with burning eyes, men and women whose faces carried the deep marks that only absolute devotion and righteous wrath can bring. Their manner of dress was distinctive; not so much strange - most Benacian peasants wore similar homespun garments - as excessively traditional. The Benacian long vest, nowadays worn only on special occasions and in tourism advertisements; the sharp-heeled boots, such as those worn by callamen riders; the religious tokens, kept mainly by the extremely devout, hung on leather thongs around their necks. These tokens, small ceramic discs painted with the avatars of gods, are rarely seen, and most wear only the one with the sigil of B'caw. But the members of this gathering wore many, most of them belonging to less popular deities: Metun, protectoress of fisherman; Alcun, lord of the winds; even Chenrasir, the divine herdsman, whose status as a god was considered almost heretical. These were all old gods, the ancient divinities from before the coming of Cedrism, and of B'caw.(3) These almost stereotypically Benacian people stared across the table at the other group that had agreed to see them, arriving earlier in the evening. Being visitors to the house, the villagers hadn't paid them any mind either, lumping in with the other strange sorts that passed through; but these were no friends of the clan head, or his traditionalist associates. They were obviously wealthier and cultured men, dressing in the fashion common among the modern merchants. Their ancestors, taking in the riches that the days of the Commonwealth had brought, had supplanted the old clans in their power to shape events; nowadays, they remained connected with commerce and money and power, following the pulse of modernity in order to maintain their lifestyle.(4) One of these was the first to speak. "None of us ever expected to come here. unless it were in the form of a coffin." His style of speech was bland, retaining the peculiarities of Shirerithian English but otherwise unaccented. "Your people haven't exactly been friendly to us in the past.""Ye nin can buh-lame us, citee man," replied one of the traditionalists, a great brute of a man with dark hair and a beard. His Benacian accent is artificially thick, as if he were trying hard to sound distinctive. "Witha yer pah-wer taykin ways."He stopped at a hand signal from their host, Rynnu Pendœra ta Pennœrissa. It was evident who was in charge of the traditionalists. "You'll parton my frent here," he stated, in a less confusing accent, which was nonetheless marked by some odd consonantal shifts: a mark of upper-class Benacian. "But of course, he has a point: those of us who wish for a return to the tratitions of our forefathers haff suffered badly at the hants of ruthless commercial interests. Your acceptance of the culture of the outsiters has helpt to destroy that which makes us Pennÿr."(5) The city man scowled. "We choose not to hold to ancient superstitions and outlandish dress styles. We choose not to ignore the world, clinging to old stories.""You choose," suggested Rynnu, "to sell your souls and the history of our people, getting money and comfort in exchansh. You choose to corrupt the young with stories of life in the wide world of the foreigners. You choose to help our monstrous half-human Count erote the ways of life that he does not ant cannot comprehent, with his twistet brain.""We are making life better. for ourselves, yes, but for others as well! Bringing knowledge, and wealth, and prestige to Benacia! Trying to make it shine as a beacon to the rest of the world! And Count Shyriath has helped us in that." the portly man trailed off, as if he had nearly given away some deep secret.(6) Rynnu smiled unpleasantly. "He has helpt you in that," he continued, "until now? .Yes, we know of your falling out with our good demon Count." He leaned forward into the light, revealing a young face, but a hard and calculating one, the face of a man who had lost what he thought was his, and would do anything to get it back. "You see, holding to our tratitions does not mean we are bumpkins. We haff informants. spies, if you will. and we haff been kept appraised of your quarrels. And this is why we callt you here."(7) The city man glanced at his surprised colleagues. Offering them a questioning look, he received several nods in reply and sighed. Turning to Rynnu, he nodded. "Very well. Yes, we have been quarreling with the Count. At first, we were pleased with what he was doing; he seems to be genuinely interested in the welfare of the island. But we've had significant differences with him over his insistence on enforcing the ban on political parties.""Ahhhhhh yes. one of the most sacret edicts of the Kaisers." The use of the word Kaiser was enough to draw the notice of his men; it was a powerful symbol of rejection. For ten thousand years, the people of Benacia had called the overlords of their island, the distant but all-powerful emperors and the petty kings of that had extended their reach over Benacia, by the ancient title of Thon. The connotations of the word were not merely those of a mortal ruler, but of a nearly godlike master of fate; and ever since Benacia had passed under the rule of Shireroth, the Kaisers had been called by that same title."Oh, yes, I dare to say it," he continued, noting even the shocked look on the faces of the merchants. "The ancient title of respect should not be demeant by placing it on foreign despots. In the beginning times, it was for the High Kings of the island, our own native rulers, that the name of Thon was reserfed, ant I, at least, shall keep that in my heart. .But come."( "Yes," replied the merchant, squirming a little. "At any rate, he refused to bend on the issue, saying it was beyond his power to go against the rules of the. of the Kaiser. For a time, when he was made Duke of Brookshire, it was better; he was away on the mainland, and his representative was pliable. But then he came back here, and now. we have no means of speech. We've been permitted to talk to the Imperial Ombudsman, of course, but that won't change anyone's mind. The political party ban keeps us from organizing in our own interests. Our old rights are being whittled down, and when we ban together to protest, we get thrown in prison. And it's all the worse because of the new Kaiser."(9) Rynnu nodded thoughtfully. The internal politics of the Imperial Bloodlines were complex and strange, and had unpredictable effects. In the chaos that resulted in the abdication of Wyltheow I, and the very short reign of Lacrymosa II, the formerly dominant branch of the Line of Mortis had been largely wiped out, and the head of a junior branch came to lead the bloodline. Shortly after the ascension of Los II, this new primary Mortis line came to settle in Benacia, where they adopted several elements of Benacian culture; and eventually, one of this new line came to the throne as Kaiser Mors IV.This had been bad for political groups of all types. The Kaiser had kept a close eye on events in his homeland, and at his bidding the Count had done his best to keep a lid on the demands of his subjects. Even the relatively friendly organizations, such as those formed by these merchants to protect their business, had been targeted. The advantage was now with those who had been hostile to the Shirerithian regime from the start."You see," replied Rynnu slowly, clearly savoring the moment, "this is why we askt you here. The Silent Brotherhoot hass always known that foreign kings cannot be trustet to keep the best interests of the Pennÿm and their native lant in mynt. My ancestor, the great Pendœra himself, gave his life in orter to keep them from Benacia; my own clan becan when we were cast out for refusing to supmit to the Kaisers when they first came. We haff waited long for the moment when we could free our islant for all time. Ant now, I think, you ant your brethren in the cities haff begun to see that this is the only way to achieff your desires as well."(10) The merchant nodded curtly. "If the Count insists on remaining no more than an Imperial lackey, we want nothing more to do with him or his masters. I suppose you wish an alliance or something.""Of course. We haff numerous differences, but surely they can be solft after we haff forced Shireroth off our soil, correct? If we haff that common goal, that is enough for now. Ant we belief the benefit will be mutual; you haff money ant power in the cities, we haff appeal with the common people that you cannot hope to reach in the country."The merchant leader leaned back. "We'll have to consider this carefully. Trust takes a long time to build. and moreover, we'll need to plan on how to defeat the Shirerithian military.""But of course," replied Rynnu benevolently. "Giff our regards to your fellows in Port Benacia. If you decide to move forwart with us, we can bekin to plan our next moofe."(11) After the merchants had gone, the members of the Silent Brotherhood conversed among themselves for a while longer. The merchants were, more than likely, roped in; the loss of their old independence in money-making was far greater than their disdain for the traditional ways. But now, it was time to plan their own moves., said one of them, speaking in Benacian. Rynnu sniffed, as if such behavior could only be considered typical of foreigners. A shapely woman, her dark hair bound in a long braid, answered. (12) asked the man who had first spoken to the merchants. replied Rynnu smugly.(13) he gestured at one of the traditionalists, older and more timid than most of their gathering. He was loyal to the Silent Brotherhood, but was viewed by his compatriots as a useless man; he was no fighter, no planner. They had never known what their lord kept him around for. continued Rynnu, as if reading their thoughts, This got their attention. The ancient artifact known as the Sky Pillar of Tun?, a great metal tower filled with incomprehensible technology, had existed in the high hills of the island for as long as legend could recount. It was known that Count Shyriath had had studies performed on it, but few had been successful in uncovering more of the tower's secrets.(14) Sarcal stood up to speak, looking nervous. Rynnu spoke again. (15) asks Car?.(16) Shyriath looks out over the bustling streets of Port Benacia from the windows of his offices. His eyes, normally glittering and blue, have dulled to a pale bluish-gray; and they are half-lidded, struggling to stay open after very little sleep. The byways he looks upon are busy, loud, and to all appearances thoroughly prosperous and normal.But now he knows it not to be true.He sighs, and slumps into his chair. The half-dragon looks to his advisor, a tall, thin man with black hair and a moustache, and penetrating green eyes. "How long has this been going on, Kantir?"Kantir bows, and replies, "We're not sure, my lord. But it's likely that the merchants have been preparing their move for a few weeks at least."Shyriath bows his head. Of course; it all makes sense now. Last week, a newly formed political organization representing merchants' interests had made a very sudden, very visible, and very large demonstration in the main thoroughfare of the port; and he, acting on the Kaisers' ban on such groups, had been forced to have them rounded up. Hundreds of militiamen had been needed to subdue the troublesome protesters; it had been done as peacefully as possible, but there had been some injuries, and one death. Many had witnessed it, and commented on the harshness of the response. And since then, leaflets had been left out all over the city, describing the incident as "the brutality of foreign domination".(17) Clever. Horribly clever. The population of the Port was starting to view Count Shyriath with suspicion now, as an outsider rather than the good Benacian he had tried to present himself as. And now, with this new report, that some merchants had been seeking out weapons and military support even before then, it is clear why.There is about to be violence, violence on the part of the local magnates. And they're trying to whip up public support.(1 "What do they have in the way of allies?"Kantir consults a clipboard. "Apparently, very little. Some others in Tenra, but other than that, they seem to be relying on a popular uprising.""And the outlying villages? The traditionalists we've had problems with?"Kantir sniffs, as if the very thought was laughable. "To them, the merchants are bigger corruptors than the Shirerithian government ever was... besides which, they don't have the resources. I imagine they'll stay out of this."Shyriath nods, and stands up, a look of resolve crystallizing in his face. "Do we know where the merchants are hiding their weapons?""They appear to have been gathered in a series of warehouses on the south side of the harbor.""Good. Then we'll hit them tonight, before they have a chance to strike." Shyriath makes a sweeping motion with his arm, towards the warehouses. "The local police will go after as many of the big fish behind this as possible; arrest them all at once, so they don't have a chance to warn each other. Meanwhile, the militia will go into the warehouses and seize the weapons caches. With the weapons as proof, the people will see that the merchants were behind the unrest, and they will trust us again."Kantir bows. "A bold and decisive move, my lord. Shall I notify the commander?""Yes, yes. Thank you, Kantir."(19) Shyriath paces before the window, but tries to put himself at ease.Tonight. Tonight, this will be dealt with, and he will be able to sleep again.(20) CLANG! SLASH! Captain Toran unsheathes his sword from the body of the mercenary. Sliding it into his scabbard, he pulls out his pistol and runs to join his men, who have the other guards pinned down just outside the warehouse. The mercenaries had already been overturning the vehicles for use as a barricade when Toran's militia unit had arrived."No doubt about it, sir!" yells one of the militiamen over the noise of the firefight. "They were tipped off! Air support picked off some snipers from the roof!""B'caw-dammit," mutters the captain. "Are we getting at those mercs in front of the door?""Negative, sir! We can't get close enough!"(21) The captain sighs, pulls out his walkie-talkie. "This is Toran. Air support, get over here and smoke out the guards. We'll move in and capture the weapons."A few minutes later, the helicopter whirrs in, men inside taking shots at the mercs from above. Their cover suddenly useless, the guards scatter, futilely trying to escape both the aerial and ground attacks. "Split off and pursue them!" yells Captain Toran. "We'll get inside and secure the building!"(22) Toran and his men blow the lock off the warehouse door. Opening it a crack, one of the men looks in, sees no signs of movement. The men open the door wider. The captain pokes in his head briefly, but before pulling it back, can only stare at what he sees.Empty. The whole building is a big, empty space!(23) Rynnu, self-styled future King of the Benacians, reads the report with satisfaction.A tall, cloaked figure approaches him in his quarters. "Good news, I assume?"Rynnu laughs, "Indeed. Your contacts did their job perfectly. The demon Count went for the bait. He thought he could nip a potential revolt in the bud, but he couldn't find the weapons... and now he has no evidence to keep the merchants he arrested in jail. Now those are freed, the people are angry at a seeming act of purposeless revenge against the merchants, and the rebel leaders and their weapons are safely tucked away in their safehouse."The cloaked figure's smile is not visible beneath his hood, but a blind man could tell it was there. "Lackeys of the Kaiser are easily led around, my lord. He operates on good information; trying to hide the fact that the weapons were being brought to that warehouse would've been impossible. So, we allowed him to find the warehosue; and thanks to the hidden tunnel, the arms were all smuggled away to the safehouse as soon as they arrived there. The Count had no way of knowing that the arms hadn't stayed in the building."Rynnu glances at him sharply. "About that tunnel...""It was collapsed before the militia even arrived. All the weapons, as well as the major merchant leaders, are at the safehouse.""Excellent."(24) Rynnu sips his brandy. "Now the Count has been brought down in the eyes of the people. They will see his acts as baseless oppression, and they will sympathize with the merchants. The city folk will become restive, and the Count will be distracted by them; he will ignore our activities." He glances at the cloaked figure. "My friend, I must admit that when you first came to me, I was skeptical. I had no interest in revolution then. But your words convinced my heart; and now, the success of your plans is convincing my mind."The cloaked figure bows. "I am but a heartfelt patriot, Lord. When Benacia is free and you are its master, that will be my reward.""Ahhhh, but not all your reward," replies Rynnu magnanimously. "For your invaluable aid and that of your agents, you will have your pick of territories and wealth to manage in my name. You will have a bright future, my friend."The cloaked man bows again. Sounding satisfied, he replies, "My thanks, Lord."(25) In the fastness of the ancient city of Shirekeep, a pale, blue-eyed man, sitting upon an ancient throne, crushes a piece of paper in his fist. Though his face is expressionless, his aides know that he is angry.Mors IV "Nerrolar", the Kaiser of Shireroth, abruptly stands up and walks to his private chambers at a brisk pace.This has gone on far too long, he thinks to himself. The very island where I was born is in an uproar; the people are against an established noble. Therefore, they are against ME.(26) The message, sent by the Count's adviser, had asked for assistance in the matter. Mors is not an emotional man, known for his cold, clinical outlook; but this news has inflamed a desire for punishment.In his quarters, he quickly pens an Imperial Decree establishing an heir to the throne, and hands it to a waiting squire. "Take this. Have copies sent to all the Duchies of Shireroth." To another, he commands, "You! Get to the barracks. I need a good-sized strikeforce from the Imperial Army. And boats, troop ships to carry them down the Elwynn and over open water."He opens up a locked cabinet with the key only he has. Inside is a suit of black armor, a shield, and an ancient sword with a dark, wicked-looking blade, a weapon kept in his line from the earliest days.He will attend to this matter personally.(27) When the small fleet arrives in Port Benacia to start disgorging its troops, things have entered a sorry state.The spectacular failure of the Count's weapons raid two weeks ago had turned the people of the city against him. With no tangible grounds to detain the many merchants who had been arrested, unrest was growing here, and slowly spreading to the countryside; the crackdown had disrupted business coming into the city from the outlying villages.Now reports are starting to come in of rural rebel groups as well, and militia forces are spread thin.As Imperial troops begin quelling unrest around the harbor and downtown, the Kaiser and his enior military advisors stride into the government house to meet with the Count.(2 Shyriath finds himself on bended knee before his Kaiser. Rising when it is indicated that he should, the half-dragon sounds nervous. "M-my Kaiser... I am grateful for your help, but I hadn't expected-""I was asked to come, Count Shyriath."The Count looks perplexed."The note was from your advisor?"Shyriath looks to his aide Kantir, who fidgets. "Sire, I knew the Kaiser would want to know. With the militias stretched so thin-"Shyriath sighs. "Yes, yes."Mors continues. "At any rate, we will shortly be in control of the situation. Once the city is secure, we will push into the outlying areas and keep this from escalating."(29) Rynnu leaps to his feet. "The Kaiser is HERE?!?"The traditionally-dressed woman, Car?, nods stiffly. "He arrived in Port Benacia just a few hours ago, my lord."The fundamentalist leader shews his lip. The appearance of the army was not supposed to have been so swift... and not with the Kaiser leading it. Why had they been drawn so swiftly to events in this backwater?"Change of plans," he informs the woman. "I'm taking the scientist to the Sky Pillar to get control of it. If you see our friend in the hooded cloak, tell him to go to there as well. Meanwhile, you tell our people to start their revolt now. Draw the Kaiser here, to the villages... that will distract them."(30) He tries to calm himself as he goes to the stables. This was an unexpected development; nothing more. It can still be dealt with. The Sky Pillar is the key. Not even a Kaiser's might can stand up to it.Over the skies of Benacia, the storm clouds gather, and the sky darkens.(31) The rebel leader Rynnu paces back and forth impatiently, watching his scientist ally making adjustments to the control device he had created. After so long, he is at last near his goal of taking control of the ancient energies of the Sky Pillar of Tune. If only he can manage that, it doesn't matter HOW many soliders the Kaiser has at his disposal; the tower's technological marvels will serve Rynnu as a weapon against which NO modern military can stand.But now there's fighting outside the tower. This has to be finished NOW! "Hurry up with that!""Almost done, sir."(32) Rynnu wishes he knew how the Kaiser had found out enough about the rebellion to warrant a personal visit anyway. Why was he here? Who had told him? Certainly not the demon-Count, he would've wanted to handle it himself.The sound of the elevator clicking into place behind him causes Rynnu to whirl around; and he sees a man in dark armor striding toward him. Someone else is behind the cold figure, but the rebel leader fails to notice; his sight is entirely filled by the angry visage of Kaiser Mors."Y-you!" the man squeaks.(33) The Kaiser does not speak, but continues to advance with dreadful purpose, his eyes burning with cold fire. Rynnu draws his own sword in desperation, but the Sword of Mortis comes down upon his blade and snaps it in two as if it were balsam wood."Your rebellion ends here. I will NOT see this island attempting to break away, especially not when my own family settled here ages ago. Benacia is of the Line of Mortis now.""Pity," comes a voice from behind the Kaiser, "that the Line of Mortis must end so soon."Before Mors can even turn his head, an expertly (perhaps unnaturally?) wielded dagger slides between two of the plates of the armor upon his back and pierces his lung. The Kaiser's face twists into rage, but he can do nothing but to double over, suddenly gasping for breath.(34) Rynnu looks up, and sees the formerly timid Kantir, the aide of Count Shyriath, with a devious smile upon his face.The face of the same man that had been advising Rynnu himself."K-kantir... thank the Gods." Rynnu slides to the floor, looking relieved. "You came in the nick of time. But... what is the Kaiser doing here? And what were YOU doing with him?""I was guiding him here. I went through the trouble of calling him to the island, after all."Rynnu reels in shock. "You WHAT?!?"(35) "Sir?" interrupts the scientist, emerging from a side room. "The device is... ready..." he gulps, observing the wheezing Kaiser.Rynnu quickly gets to his feet. "The controls for the tower? And they're ready? You're sure they work?""Yes, sir, I can guarantee it."Rynnu stabs the scientist with the jagged, proken end of his sword.Kantir appears amused. "Bloodthirsty today, are we?""Leaving no one behind that could stop me." Rynnu grabs up the small, almost simple-looking control device, and begins working the switches. All around them, the Sky Pillar hums to life.(36) Count Shyriath, coming up behind the forces engaged in battle with the rebels around the foot of the Sky Pillar, orders the militia accompanying him to reinforce the Imperial troops. Calling on a nearby captain, he yells, "Where is the Kaiser?""Nowhere in sight! He went for the tower!""Alone?!?"Dread in his heart, Shyriath spurs his callamen steed Windfeather toward the Sky Pillar, doing his best not to get caught up in the fray.Meanwhile, the ancient tower begins to hum, its systems coming to life once more.(37) Rynnu sets the final parameters. "Now... yes. The tower is ready to fire." He turns to Kantir. "Everything is going well... or at least it was. Why did you endanger the plan by convincing the Kaiser to come here? He could've ruined everything!"The aide shrugs in a nonchalant manner. "It was MY plan in the beginning, remember? I was the one who advised you to take control of the tower.... the one who told you what it might have been for." He grins, and looks up at the crystal dome topping the tower. "Imagine it... a giant focusing tower. Built to draw energy from all around and turn it into a beam that could be aimed at power receivers for miles around... or turned into an awesome weapon.""Yes, yes!" hisses Rynnu impatiently. "But why did you bring the Imperials into this? The rebellion could have already taken over the island before the Army had any clue what was happening! Know they're upon our very doorstep!"Kantir strides forward, as if to embrace his comrade. "Now, now, my friend.. Surely you must realize-"And then, with a rapid motion, he plunges another dagger into the heart of the rebel leader. Rynnu falls down, dead before he hits the floor."...surely you must realize," finishes Kantir with a whisper, "that my version of the plan might not be the same as yours."(3 A bubbling cough catches Kantir's attention, drawing his notice away from the elevator, which at this moment chooses to go back down to the bottom of the tower. Mors is struggling to his feet, leaning on his sword. "You... arranged this." The monarch coughs, blood trailing form the corner of his mouth; but his eyes are filled with understanding of what has happened. "The rebellion was an excuse to bring me here... I was your target all along."Kantir bows slightly. "You strike close to the truth, Majesty... although the rebellion was an added bonus. As was this." He gestures to the thrumming machinery. "Think of the mayhem! A Kaiser, cut down... a rebellion, using valuable Imperial troops to crush. And a weapon capable of holding whole sections of Shireroth hostage! Do you know why, O Arbiter?"The Kaiser's eyes burn, as if his approaching death his eyes had been given greater vision. "To... weaken. To sap the strength of Shireroth... to waste our energies." He looks to Kantir with a new hate. "To influence the outcome... of the Last Battle."(39) Kantir Suramon, loyal servant of the Descendi, nods in satisfaction. "Ages ago, the Hand of Rrakanychan sought to free the great Daemon from his place before the Gate of Balgurd. They failed... but their vision has not." He sneers. "We cannot know what the Last Battle will bring, but we do know that easing the way for the Legions of Balgurd cannot hurt. Surely, the destruction of a Kaiser will aid in this."The Kaiser coughs up more blood, and his vision begins to fade; he sways on his feet. He can hear Kantir striding toward him. "I suggest you simply give up, Majesty. It will be less painful."(40) Mors grimaces. His eyes snap open, and with a sudden movement he lunges at Kantir, knocking him aside; with one last wild swing of the Sword of Mortis, he slashes off a spiky piece of the tower's ancient machinery. Sizzling energy crackles from the stump of the device, speading to nearby spikes like a disease. The hum of the tower turns to a higher pitch, almost a whine.His energy spent, Kaiser Mors slumps to the ground. Kantir, getting up from where he had fallen, scowls and whirls around; he fades into the shadows, as if he had never been.The elevator returns to the top floor, bearing Count Shyriath. He utters a cry of horror, seeing that he is too late. Rushing to the Kaiser's side, he begins pulling the dying monarch back towards the elevator. "Don't worry, your Majesty... I'll send you back down, the men will find you. I'll take care of the rebels up here.(41) Mors coughs. "No... all gone. Device destroyed..." He coughs; blood from his lips spatters his armor. "Won't survive this. My family... see them safely to Benacia. Watch them."As the elevator begins its descent, Shyriath shakes his head in shock. "Majesty, I-""I COMMAND it," whispers Mors. "My heir is chosen... he shall take the throne. And my line must continue. YOU must see to it." He gasps in air, as if while speaking he had been immersed in water. "My sword... the Sword of Mortis. You will bring it to my descendants. ...Swear to me.""Yes... yes, I..." But Shyriath cannot continue, for Mors will not answer. As the last breath of the Kaiser leaves his body, his eyes close in peace.Shyriath has seen many things in his inhumanly long life, and seen a great many sad things; but as he sits over the body of his sovereign lord, they all pale in comparison.Unable to help himself, he weeps.(Strip #0 needs to be written. It involves old men telling stories around a campfire.) And who would have thought that my fate, it would conjure this twist in the road on which I have wandered?Each vision and dream now completely dismembered, to give one's whole life and find nothing's remembered...And what good is a life that leaves nothing behind? Not a thought or a dream that might echo in time

[Kaiser Alejian I]

And so it begins! Waahahahaha!