Blind_Watcher
patreon
Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 64 - Scions of nobility - Part Two
🕑 Added 2023-05-16 01:36:57 +0000 UTCOgre Tyrant: Chapter 64 - Scions of nobility - Part Two
The arrival of the Semenovian Queen, Katia, signalled a true beginning of the construction of the Semenovian port city and De-Facto capital for their Faction. Unlike her daughter, Katia abandoned her Water Mage Advanced Class and accepted the Pact Binder Advanced Class the moment the offer was presented to her.
With the Queen prepared to take on the role of leading, or at least directing, the construction efforts for the city, I decided it would save a great deal of time to simply explain things to her rather than repeating myself.
“At the most basic level, the mana costs associated with Summoning projections of Daemons can be heavily subsidised by offering raw mana stones,” I fought to keep my voice even and controlled as I conjured a mana stone from Sanctuary’s treasury into my palm. “The tier of the mana stone directly determines how much mana it can substitute.”
Queen Katia nodded with polite but eager interest, signalling for me to continue.
Tossing the mana stone to Cin, I released a quiet sigh of relief as my nerves calmed themselves once more and the mounting demands of my addiction ebbed. “Mana stones cannot substitute the use of your mana entirely. However, the amount of mana required is largely dependent on your relationship with the Summoned target and their Arbiter.”
“Apologies, champion Fharad,” the Queen pressed her delicate hands together in apology and dipped her head forward slightly in deference. “I am unfamiliar with the title of Arbiter and how their opinion may be improved. Please, forgive my ignorance.”
“It is to be expected,” I replied honestly. “If you had known, I would have found it surprising.”
Queen Katia nodded politely and waited for me to elaborate. However, her daughter, Irina, scowled faintly and furrowed her brow distrustfully.
“Simply put, Daemons have an established hierarchy and the Daemon at the top is recognised as their King or Queen,” I explained patiently while gathering my mana. “This monarch controls which Summons will be answered, how much of the raw mana the Daemon answering the Summon will receive for their Evolution, and can even artificially extend a Summon using their mana. Assuming, of course, the monarch has a reason to do so.”
A faint chime rang as a projection of Gric appeared at my side.
Wearing only an armoured kilt and a few articles of jewellery, Gric made no attempts at hiding his true nature. However, with his original self located somewhere within a few hundred feet of our current position, his projection didn’t appear at all surprised by the Summons or the company he now found himself in.
Gric made a point of narrowing his eyes slightly at Irina before directing his attention toward the Queen. “I am Gric,” he stated with only a nominal degree of interest.
“Firstborn! Daemon King! Overseer of Sanctuary! Chancellor of the Faction Council! And Tyrant’s representative of the Senate of Species!” Cin added excitedly with sycophantic zeal. She looked like she would have continued if I hadn’t given her a silent warning.
Just as vain as any of his lesser kin, Gric smiled faintly and ever so slightly held himself a little taller.
Queen Katia bowed low and accompanied the gesture with an elegant curtsy. “It is an honour to make your acquaintance your Majesty. It is my sincerest hope that we may come to a mutually beneficial relationship.”
Gric inclined his head slightly in response, “All shall be as the Tyrant wills,” he replied bluntly.
If the Queen was offended by Gric’s refusal to acknowledge her title, she didn’t show it. “It shall be as you say,” she agreed graciously. “Of course, it may be presumptuous of me to assume as much, and yet...I was under the impression that the Tyrant had already made it clear that he supported the efforts to evacuate and house our people.”
Gric stared back at the Queen for several long seconds in absolute silence. “The Tyrant has allowed you to take measures to resettle your people. This is not the same as securing his support or mandate for action.”
Queen Katia’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly but she managed to maintain her overall expression of gratitude and convivial diplomacy. “That is...disappointing...” She admitted, briefly dampening her positive attitude. “However, I do hope that we may come to an amicable agreement amongst ourselves!” The Queen implored earnestly.
“You have nothing I deem valuable with which to trade,” Gric stated coldly. However, despite the finality in his tone, Gric did not terminate his projection.
Which meant there was something he wanted and was simply positioning himself for a better bargaining position.
Curious to find out what Gric wanted, I decided to stay and watch.
“If it is a matter of mana stones-” The Queen suggested.
“It isn’t,” Gric interrupted.
Queen Katia didn’t miss a beat, taking his interruption in stride. “Then perhaps, if myself and my esteemed husband, the King, currently lack a suitable subject of trade, sir might be interested in a deferred payment of some sort instead?”
Gric’s stoic expression shifted slightly in response, betraying, or rather, baiting, the Queen toward the outcome he desired.
“If sir is willing to accept a deferred payment or agreement for future collaboration, I am vested with the authority to make such a commitment on my people’s behalf,” the Queen pressed, seizing on the bait.
Gric disagreed immediately. Instead, he made an exaggerated show of considering the offer. At least, exaggerated by the established standard of his emotional range of expression that didn’t involve or relate to imminent violence. “A future favour it is then...” Gric agreed with pronounced reluctance. Without further warning, Gric terminated the projection.
“That is another factor to consider when Summoning projections,” I cautioned. “The projection is capable of self-termination. Just because you have Summoned them, it doesn’t make them your Slave.”
Queen Katia slowly nodded in understanding.
“Then how-” Irina baulked as she garnered her mother’s undivided attention.
“How will Gric remember the deal that has been struck?” I asked and then looked pointedly at Cin and motioned for her to answer.
“We remember everything!” Cin replied eagerly.
The Queen winced and her face grew a shade paler.
“To the best of my knowledge, it is the nature of all projections,” I elaborated.
Already thoroughly cowed by her mother, Irina stiffly nodded her head as means of acknowledgement while staring at the ground.
“I will leave the rest to your best judgement then,” I declared and left them to consider their options on how best to proceed.
Erecting a tower by the docks, I watched from a distance as the Queen and her cadre of newly initiated pact Binders set a small army of Daemons to work drawing dark stone structures from the depths of the earth.
The Semenovians were not playing around.
With Gric serving as their bridge between worlds, trains of wagons bearing building materials and mana stones arrived with increasing frequency. The mana stones would last all of a handful of minutes before being depleted as more of Cin’s projections were Summoned to join the efforts of the persisting host.
In a mere handful of hours, the outermost borders of the city had grown to encompass the docks and warehouses I had prepared earlier.
Unlike the Asrusians, the Semenovians implemented far fewer defensive walls. However, it was not a particularly fair comparison given that each apartment complex was a significant fortification unto itself.
Despite the buildings still lacking doors and shutters for the windows, I decided that the Semenovians’ progress was sufficient to begin rehousing their first wave of refugees.
I Summoned a projection of King Savva beside myself atop the tower and gave him a few moments to acclimate to our surroundings.
“W-Where?...” Savva looked in shock at the empty sky before his eyes locked onto the dark grey expanse of the city below.
“Your new capital,” I commented neutrally, “Or at the very least, your first city” I amended.
Savva's eyes widened still further as new buildings erupted from the earth in rapid succession. “I read the reports...but this?...” He slowly shook his head and I caught him glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
He was afraid.
Ignoring his fear, I pressed on. “Progress will begin to slow if the Pact Binders do not receive fresh recruits. It’s time to begin evacuating the first city.”
Savva stared blankly back at me for several moments before rallying and returning to his senses. “Right, yes, of course,” he agreed, shaking off his awe and focusing on his duty to his people.
“Which city shall be first?” I prompted. I needed to know where to send my champions to reduce the difficulty in forming the Breach at the correct location.
Savva remained silent for a few moments before nodding determinedly to himself. “Verdantst. It is the city most exposed to the Confederate advance.
“You will be accompanied by three of the Tyrant’s champions. They will assist you in maintaining order as the city is evacuated,” I decided. Dividing my champions seemed like a needless risk given the potential danger, so I decided it would be best to have Randle, Faine and Jayne move as a group and look out for one another.
“I will see it done!” Savva declared decisively. He looked down at the city one last time, his eyes burning with determination as I terminated his projection.
Briefly Summoning Randle, Faine and Jayne, I passed along their orders and then relocated myself onto the roof of the processing facility within the territory of Asphodel.
Using most of my mana, I Summoned an armoured projection of Gric and then used my authority to trade its place with the original.
“It’s time,” Gric observed calmly, likely having pulled the relevant information from my surface thoughts.
I nodded and set about conjuring simple furniture to make myself comfortable.
“Am I permitted to exercise lethal force?” Gric asked curiously as he laid out a thick rug and scattered it with cushions.
“If necessary,” I agreed, knowing full well that Gric would take his interpretation from the upper limit that flitted through my mind as I answered the question.
“Understood,” Gric nodded somewhat distractedly. “And the infiltrators?” He asked a few moments later as his focus returned.
“Detain them if possible, and have Sebet collect them,” I decided. “If they resist, I trust you to exercise your best judgement.”
Gric made no reply and instead made a point of fluffing a pillow a little more vigorously than he may have done otherwise.
A long silence passed between us, which was not unusual or otherwise unexpected. Gric’s responsibilities, combined with his highly developed telepathy, often left our interactions dominated by periods of silence. However, this particular stretch of silence held a weight that suggested Gric was attempting, and failing, to determine how best to raise a subject I might find upsetting.
“Gric, what is it?” I asked, prompting him to speak his mind.
Gric flinched. I doubted anyone else would have noticed the infinitesimally minor twitch in his hands and fingers, but I had known Gric long enough to sense his tells as much as visually recognise them. “I...” Gric paused and took several deep breaths. Removing his helmet, he turned to look me straight in the eye.
The profound degree of doubt and uncertainty in his eyes caught me entirely off guard, but it was nothing compared to the raw and undisguised fear that lay beyond them.
Even with the abnormal height Sebet had provided to my Human form, Gric was at least a full head taller. However, the slouching of his neck and shoulders that accompanied his uncertainty created something of an optical illusion where I instead felt like Gric was the shorter of the two of us and that he was the one staring up at me instead of the other way around.
“I...I desire to take a Queen...” Gric croaked while rolling his shoulders uncomfortably.
Already caught off guard, it took me a few moments to properly register what Gric had said. Even so, I still couldn’t believe it. “What?”
“I desire to take a Queen,” Gric repeated quietly.
“That’s...” I struggled to find the right words. “That’s what I thought you said...” I replied lamely as I struggled to force my brain into action. “Why?” I asked, still struggling to wrap my mind around the bizarre shift in events.
“A King cannot rule alone,” Gric replied with absolute certainty. Even so, the answer felt like a deflection.
Just like the other Daemons, it was difficult to rationalise Gric’s true age against his physical appearance. Not even a single-year-old, Gric possessed the body of a fully grown adult and until this moment, had me convinced he possessed a similar degree of emotional and intellectual maturity.
“Is that the only reason?” I asked, still scrambling to come to grips with the abrupt shift in subject matter and who I was discussing it with.
Gric’s gaze wavered and he glanced away. “No...” He admitted quietly.
“Sit,” I motioned to the cushion he had been preparing earlier and then settled myself down on the rug.
Gric obediently lowered himself onto the cushion but still seemed unable to look me in the eye.
“Who is she?” I asked curiously, deciding it would be as good a place as any to start. “Who do you intend to take as your Queen?”
Gric fidgeted uncomfortably but said nothing.
“I can’t offer any advice if you won’t talk to me,” I warned him. Although I couldn’t help but feel like I was hardly the best source of advice on the subject in the first place.
Lash had been the one to initiate our incredibly short and intense courtship. If it had been left to me, I wasn’t convinced I would have had the nerve to actively pursue a relationship at all.
Gric’s silence dragged on for a handful of minutes before he showed signs of being ready to speak again.
“Her name is Talia...” Gric whispered hoarsely.
“What is it about her that you think would make her a good Queen?” I asked curiously, uncertain of what criteria Gric, or any other Daemon, would find attractive in a potential partner.
Gric hesitated. “I don’t know...”
“You don’t think she would make a good Queen?” I asked, surprised that Gric didn’t have at least a small list of utilitarian reasons why she would be well suited to the role.
Gric grunted in irritation and shifted uncomfortably. “I did not say that,” he growled. Although the anger seemed to be directed toward himself rather than toward me specifically.
“What do you like about her then?” I asked, shifting tacts.
Gric blinked in surprise and after several moments raised his gaze to stare at me in confusion.
I believed I had identified the source of the problem.
“Gric...Your future Queen, Mate, Wife or whatever, they don’t have to be the perfect person to fill the role of a Queen. You know that, right?” I asked supportively.
Gric’s confusion only appeared to intensify.
“Who told you otherwise?” I did my best to keep my mounting frustration from my voice. It wouldn’t help anyone if I lost my temper with him. Especially since Gric served as the example all the other Daemons followed. Except for Ril, of course.
“No one told me,” Gric replied warily.
“Then why?” I pressed.
Gric scowled. “The Tyrantess is perfect,” he stated definitively. “She commands respect and has the strength to rule in your absence. No one dares to cross her.”
“And that’s all that matters?” The source of Gric’s distress was slowly coming into focus but I had to be certain.
Gric’s right eye twitched, “Even the Human nobles, they choose wives for their mental strength and aptitude for political intrigue-”
“And you think Talia can’t,” I interjected.
Gric’s reptilian pupils contracted and his lips drew back in a sharp-toothed snarl.
“Gric,” I sighed and raised my open hands to show I intended no harm or offence. “It’s okay if Talia isn’t perfect...” It was strange that I had to argue such a thing, but given Gric’s lack of overall life experience, I realised that I should have anticipated it. “Lash isn’t perfect Gric, and that’s fine. I’m not perfect either. Far from it even. I know that’s probably difficult for you to accept, but it’s the truth.”
Gric’s aggression subsided and left him looking incredibly uncomfortable.
“I never would have thought myself capable of being a leader, and I strongly suspect Lash felt the same...” I explained wistfully. “I think Lash has taken to it better than I have, but that might be a cultural thing,” I mused. “Or maybe it’s the difference between being the second absolute authority instead of the first. It’s still an immense degree of pressure, but perhaps it’s because you can take some measure of comfort in the fact that someone else is otherwise responsible regardless of what you decide? I don’t really know for certain.” I shrugged helplessly. “Anyway, my point is, few people are naturally gifted leaders. Most people learn on the job and bring their way of doing things. Do you think Senn would lead the others the same way you have?”
Gric slowly shook his head, “No,” he agreed.
Their leadership styles would be incredibly similar, both being Daemons, but elements of their unique personalities would no doubt create a certain degree of difference all on their own.
“So why does Talia have to be the same as Lash?” I was relieved to see that Gric was seriously considering the question instead of dismissing it out of hand.
Gric frowned but said nothing. Not that I had expected him to do otherwise, but the whole situation had taken me quite by surprise.
I used my authority to filter through the registry of my subjects. Accounting for variations in the spelling, there were several hundred potential candidates with a name matching the one Gric had provided.
“You are right,” Gric looked confused and profoundly unsettled by his admission.
“And that bothers you?” I pressed.
Gric nodded but quickly caught himself, “I did not doubt you, I just...It is difficult to understand...” He flinched, flashing his fangs and clenching his fists before settling into a cold expressionless state once more.
I leaned forward and rested my right hand on Gric’s shoulder. I then gave his shoulder an affirmative squeeze, “I’m proud of you Gric. For trying,” I elaborated and gave him a reassuring smile.
There was no telling how much Gric and the other Daemons had diverted from their base nature and what role I played in that divergence. However, given that everyone seemed convinced that Daemons were nothing more than vicious killing machines that lived only for death and destruction, I couldn’t help but feel an immense degree of pride and appreciation that the Daemons had chosen to be different. That they had chosen to be something more.
A faint smile crept across Gric’s lips and his eyes flashed with pride.
“Take some time to think things through, and if you still feel the same way about Talia, we can try and figure things out from there, alright?” I was a little annoyed at myself for not pushing to uncover Talia’s identity. However, until Gric had worked through his feelings, it didn’t seem appropriate to pursue matters any further.
Gric nodded and rose to his feet. He replaced his helmet and then casually stepped off of the rooftop.
A scattered multitude of cries rose in surprise and alarm but were quelled as Gric began assigning the gathered officials and soldiers to their respective posts.
Remotely viewing my champions, I found Randle, Faine and Jayne standing a short distance behind King Savva alongside a small formation of high-ranking officers.
The main road of the city was packed to such a degree that it sparked a momentary panic in my mind as I recalled the horrors of Mournbrent. However, the bodies crowding the street belonged to the living, not the undead.
“He’s here,” Randle warned and nodded toward the sky. “We should probably get into position.”
Following Randle’s withdrawal, my attention was directed toward the savaged lawn of a noble’s estate.
A deep tunnel had been dug into the earth beneath the estate. Supported by thick beams of timber to prevent a collapse, dim lanterns hanging from the ceiling provided just enough light to illuminate the wooden boards that covered the ground.
“My Tyrant, we decided a minor degree of subterfuge would assist in maintaining calm during the evacuation,” Randle explained hurriedly while retreating into the tunnel.
In addition to their defensive formation outside of the tunnel entrance, Savva’s elite soldiers were positioned every ten or so feet along the length of the tunnel. However, the tunnel quickly proved to be only ninety feet long.
At the end of the tunnel, a large group of out-of-uniform soldiers stood behind several horizontal poles that cut across the width of the tunnel. Judging by how the soldiers were positioned, I could only assume that the soldiers would be providing a form of audible deception by walking on the spot to cover for the people carried away by the Breach. The poles would help bear their weight and presumably allow them to continue for longer without becoming exhausted.
Just like the tunnel itself, it was a rather clever and low-tech solution for a problem I hadn’t fully considered.
“We thought here would be best, my Tyrant,” Randle motioned to a space roughly fifteen feet back from the end of the tunnel before moving out of the way and a short distance back up the tunnel.
Already gathering my mana, I cleared my mind as best as I could and focused on the indicated section of the tunnel and the distant receiving ground in Asphodel.
I remained vaguely aware of Randle speaking in the background but I mostly ignored him.
After several minutes of intense concentration, the Breach was successfully formed and I was able to dial back my concentration by several magnitudes of intensity.
Randle was already on the move, briskly striding up the length of the tunnel and back toward the entrance.
After receiving the news from Randle, Savva had his soldiers who were holding back the crowd slowly pull away and begin directing the crowd toward the tunnel.
With no immediate need to review what was happening on the other side of the Breach, I stopped remotely viewing Randle and tried my best to make myself comfortable.
Contrary to my initial expectations, it took several minutes before I noticed the sporadic dip and regeneration in my mana that signalled the transportation of the first refugees.
I could only assume that the refugees had taken some coaxing to enter the tunnel, or that Savva had made some sort of speech before allowing the first wave through.
After slowly getting to my feet, I looked out over the ledge of the processing building and toward the staggered column of refugees that was slowly making their way down the main road.
It still surprised me that humans cost so little mana to transport from one location to another simply because humans were considered weaker than monsters. The Breach itself cost more mana to maintain over a single minute than the number of refugees that passed through it during the same amount of time. Of course, once the refugees entered my Demi-Plane, they were automatically converted into monsters, which meant travelling back through the Breach would cost me far more mana. Although a single Human would still cost less mana to transport than a Goblin.
Asif to prove me wrong, a chunk of my mana suddenly evaporated as five monsters passed through the Breach and entered Asphodel.
<Gric, we have intruders.> I warned, trusting that Gric was monitoring my surface thoughts for just such an eventuality.
<I have found them.> Gric replied calmly.
As the procession drew closer to the processing facility I felt a familiar sensation drift through the periphery of my mind as my focus was drawn toward a small cluster of refugees in the middle of the road and close to the front of the procession.
<Slaves...> Gric’s telepathic communication was strangely distorted and contained several flickering images from memories that were not his own. <Slaves and Confederate infiltrators.>
Numbering five in all, the infiltrators had stopped in their tracks and drawn together into a defensive formation. Without warning, all but one of the infiltrators collapsed to the ground. The last infiltrator left standing began to collapse but managed to stop themselves at the last moment by widening their stance. However, it only bought the infiltrator a handful of seconds before they collapsed just like the others.
<The infiltrators have been neutralised.> Gric reported dispassionately. <I suspect that there will be others.> He added shortly afterwards, projecting a stolen memory of a military camp into my mind.
Taken from the perspective of one of the infiltrators, the memory showed dozens of men and women kneeling before a Confederate commander.
The original owner of the memory held an intense and bitter hatred for the commander, and I could sense the pain in the periphery of the memory as the Commands anticipated and enforced compliance.
What I Didn't understand was why the infiltrators had cost so much mana to transport through the Breach.
<They are not human.> Gric stated, providing another stolen memory that explained the situation better than he could have done.
The infiltrators were werewolves.
In their true forms, the infiltrators looked very nearly identical to the hybrid lycanthropes popularised in modern movies. Just like their cinematic counterparts, the second memory made the destructive and violent potential of the infiltrators painfully clear.
They were intended to be more than just spies. They were the Confederates’ attack dogs. When the attack on the city began, the werewolves would be set loose on the populace, inflicting carnage and sowing chaos through the city.
However, the evacuation had changed things and no doubt their masters had changed their orders accordingly. Given The extreme interest, Mournbrent’s Gateway had attracted, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Confederate commander was hoping to find that the city was being evacuated using another Gateway.
<More are coming.> Gric warned and I could see him briskly marching down the street toward the first wave of fallen infiltrators.
<I will handle it.> I replied calmly, already accessing my authority to establish a new rule for inbound travel to my Demi-Plane.
The solution wasn’t perfect but it would serve for the time being.
Any other Slaves not under my control, or that of my subjects, would be sent to the cells of Tartarus instead of arriving through the Breach into Asphodel.
Of course, this meant that any human spies or infiltrators, as well as any monsters acting outside of Enslavement Bonds, would still slip through the net. But that was why I had Gric.
Mere moments after exercising my authority, several Slaves attempted to pass through the Breach and were redirected to Tartarus. Curiously enough, I didn’t detect a notable spike in mana consumption, so I could only assume that they were human.
<Have someone warn the others.> I ordered, unwilling to risk the loss in mana it would require to Summon a projection.
<It will be done.> Gric replied obediently, already diverting his path of approach toward the unconscious infiltrators and waving over one of the soldiers stationed along the side of the road.
Under other circumstances, I would have simply challenged the Slaves owners for control. However, the Spatial Breach Spell was new to me and I doubted I would be able to maintain it and challenge a decently levelled Slaver at the same time without compromising my efforts towards them both. After seeing what had happened to Gric’s projection that passed through an unstable Breach, I was not willing to take unnecessary risks.
If keeping the Breach within my line of sight didn’t provide a noticeable reduction in the degree of concentration required to maintain it, I wouldn’t have left myself within striking distance of potential enemies. But it did, so I was resigned to wearing my armour for the immediate and foreseeable future.
With the number of infiltrators increasing with each passing minute, I wasted no further time in gathering a dedicated guard detail to oversee my safety.
Given so many lives hinged upon not only my immediate survival but my clarity of focus, I used my authority to draft the services of two dozen high-level Humans from the neutral border Factions and a handful of Kobolds. With a quest offering high rates of compensation based upon both their individual and collective contributions and diligence, none of the draftees appeared to mind the disruption to their plans for the evening.
Preoccupied with maintaining the Breach, I gradually lost track of time.
The Alerts informing me of infiltrators being redirected to Tartarus had proven to be a minor distraction in the beginning. However, after a few hours, the novelty had lost its draw factor and I had reached a point where I no longer paid it any attention whatsoever.
The mind-numbing boredom had been difficult to handle at first, but I found that I could maintain a somewhat zen-like state of meditation provided my bodyguards or the mounting numbers of refugees below didn’t make too much noise beyond the established background levels. Although the lack of stimulation proved to be another problem entirely.
So I was not particularly put out when Sebet sought me out in person.
“Forgive the intrusion, but I require your permission to prosecute a raid,” Sebet stated with mild impatience, deliberately ignoring the wary stares of my assembled bodyguards.
It took me a few moments to shift mental gears and consider the ramifications of Sebet’s request.
As per our agreements, if she was seeking my permission to act, it meant that she wanted to exercise the full range and intensity of her powers. Given that she had a standing list of exceptional circumstances that would allow them to be used without my permission, I could only assume that what Sebet intended was liable to involve a substantial degree of collateral damage or a significant risk of exposing her true nature and identity.
“Why?” I demanded, mentally bracing myself for the potential guilt I would share If I allowed Sebet’s request.
“It is a sensitive matter,” Sebet replied evasively while staring down one of the humans nearest her. Wearing one of her human disguises, she still gave off a primal sense of danger despite carrying no obvious weapons. <It involves freeing a large number of hostages and Slaves.> Sebet continued telepathically without missing a beat. <I could accomplish a certain degree of success without leveraging the full extent of my Abilities. However, I believe you would agree that these circumstances warrant a more decisive and complete prosecution of our enemy's forces.>
A stream of memories filtered through our connection and I felt an intense wave of anger and disgust build up inside of me.
“You have my permission...” I hissed bitterly, doing my best to force down the writhing mass of bile welling up within my guts.
Sebet made no attempts at hiding her profane hunger and anticipation. If anything, she went out of her way to advertise it, grinning madly and hyperventilating before disappearing into a Breach of her own making.
As tempted as I was to remotely observe Sebet and confirm events with my own eyes, I knew that it would be a mistake.
Sebet’s rules of engagement defaulted to one-upmanship, at best, and perverse and endlessly imaginative cruelty for its own sake, at worst. I did not pity murderers and rapists, but I knew that witnessing the things Sebet was capable of, what I was allowing her to do, would chip away at my soul.
Unfortunately for the Confederates, I was otherwise occupied and wasn’t willing to risk the lives of the refugees just so I could intervene in the operation personally and make alternative arrangements.
<Fighting has broken out within the city on the other side of the Breach.> Gric reported distractedly. <The Semenovians appear to have things under control, but there have been casualties.>
<It was inevitable...> I hadn’t meant to send that particular thought through our connection but supporting the Breach made it difficult to filter my projected thoughts. <Do we know how much longer this city will take?> I asked, wanting to put some mental distance between myself and my earlier nihilistic slip.
<Unclear...I will investigate.> Gric replied determinedly.
While I waited for Gric to investigate, I absently observed the slow procession of refugees making their way into the processing facility below.
Working at full capacity, the officials and their support staff would continue through the night until the next shift of their contemporaries were ready to replace them. They had managed to maintain a brisk enough pace so far that only a relative minority of refugees had chosen to leave the ‘queue’ and take advantage of the apartments to recover.
Although I suspected the primary reason most of the refugees remained in the column was out of a primal need to seek shelter in the herd. Also, as tired as the refugees may be, the moonlight and torches didn’t cast the apartments in a particularly welcoming light.
The distribution of food and clean water by the Semenovian soldiers seemed to make some small measure of the difference in setting the refugees at ease. However, the radical shift in their environment was proving to be more than some of them could handle.
Emotional outbursts and breakdowns were becoming increasingly frequent amongst the newer arrivals and there didn’t seem to be anything more the soldiers could do beyond what they were doing already.
I was reminded of how much they had lost to the depredations of the Liche and how little time they had been given to adjust to their new reality. The more I thought about it, the more surprised I became by the resilience of those who doggedly continued moving forward.
If our places were reversed, I wondered if I would have been capable of the same resilience and tenacity...
***** Vidam ~ Verdantst / Tim’s Demi-Plane *****
Tasked with accompanying the rearguard protecting the trailing tail of the refugee column, Vidam knew that his father had given him the responsibility for politically motivated reasons.
Unlike the commoners from his family’s historical holdings, the precious few of the easterners recognised his house sigil, let alone knew him by name.
Vidam knew that if he intended to rule over them as his subjects, he needed that to change.
To be fair, Vidam could appreciate that his father was in the same position.
Lesser men would be satisfied with accepting the fealty of their vassals and be done with it, but Semenovs were not lesser men.
It was a common myth amongst the noble houses of the empire that singular heroes were responsible for turning the tides of battle and vanquishing terrible foes. The reality was far simpler. Battles were paid for in blood, and the common folk had considerably more blood to shed than their noble counterparts.
The earned loyalty of the rank and file was essential in periods of crisis and had demonstrated its worth many times over throughout his family’s history. So it made sense as they struck out into a new and uncertain future that they should prepare themselves for the worst.
Several flying Beasts carrying Confederate scouts had been spotted circling the city before nightfall and there was no telling how many of them remained or whether they had successfully invaded the city itself.
The drafted militia lacked the discipline, experience and training to face an organised incursion, so they had been ordered to evacuate alongside the other refugees. Left with only a relative handful of professionally trained soldiers, the city at large had been abandoned in favour of concentrating their forces to protect the civilians against potential infiltrators and vanguard elements of the approaching Confederate army.
Of course, this meant that the gates to the city were undefended and unmanned. An easy target for the enemy to secure entry to the city. Or at least they would have been under other circumstances.
Vidam had been informed that the Tyrant’s champions had taken precautions to prevent the gates from falling so easily, but he didn’t know what exactly that entailed.
Despite his fears of an imminent attack, the night passed without any major incidents and Vidam was able to evacuate alongside his men just before midday.
Through a magic he didn’t quite understand, Vidam was teleported alongside his father to the site of their new port city and capital.
Following his father, Vidam tried his best to project an air of confidence and purpose as he walked through the city. The morale of the common folk within the city was higher than those he had left behind, but not by much. However, Vidam struggled to maintain the correct energy as he found himself staring at the multitude of small fortresses that would serve as homes for his subjects.
Having witnessed firsthand the carnage wrought by the undead, Vidam appreciated the safety and security the fortresses would provide in the event of a similar disaster. Especially now that craftsmen were hard at work fitting doors and shutters as fast as they were able.
Approaching the docks, Vidam was surprised to find a small fleet of ships bearing the Tyrant’s sigil in the harbour. As he drew closer, Vidam discovered a host of commoners and merchants haggling with a small horde of pale-skinned Goblins, offering coins in exchange for the monsters’ wide selection of wares.
Having already been warned of the low trading value the coins carried within the Tyrant's domain, Vidam wasn’t particularly surprised that a number of the wealthier-looking merchants were becoming particularly upset as they learned that their fortunes had quartered overnight.
In stark contrast, many of the commoners were pleasantly surprised to find their handful of trinkets and tools to be in relatively high demand and command competitive value against the Goblins' wares.
For their part, the Goblins offered simple clay jars filled with salt, spices, smoked meats of alarmingly diverse varieties, and oddly enough, a large store of perfectly formed iron ingots.
“Surprising, isn’t it?” His mother commented somewhat distractedly as she made her way through the outer crowd and toward them alongside her guards.
“Monster mines are not rare,” Savva replied hesitantly. “But it is strange that they would offer so much for trade without knowing our needs...”
“I think that is an incorrect assumption,” Katia countered and motioned toward a small gathering of older Goblins down the far end of the pier. “Assuming my sources can be trusted, and I don’t see any immediate reasons why they cannot, the spices, preserved meats and iron are the staples of their established cargo.”
“They were not expecting us?” Savva asked, giving voice to Vidam’s confusion.
“Apparently not,” his mother smirked wryly and motioned vaguely toward the river. “The Asrusians and a number of the monster tribes have settlements on the river. With the trade routes still in early development, the merchants are only carrying what they know will sell in the frontier settlements.”
“And that is what we are,” Savva grunted uncomfortably, making no attempts at arguing against the obvious truth of the matter.
“For now,” Katia agreed, “But I have learned that we may be able to recover faster than we anticipated.” She paused for dramatic effect, ignoring her husband’s impatience. “The Tyrant has access to someone capable of creating Gateways.”
“Impossible!” Vidam snorted, only realising his mistake after the damage was already done.
His father shot him a narrow-eyed glare in warning, but otherwise left Vidam be. Even before rising in status to become the Crowned Prince, his father had been very particular about how Vidam should present himself and behave in public settings. “You can be sure of this?” He asked warily.
“My source had no cause to lie and given the identity of the Gateway maker, she would be in a prime position to know,” his mother replied confidently. “Although I am sure the illustrious representatives of the Tyrant could confirm her existence for us if they so choose.”
“Gateways...” Vidam whispered hoarsely under his breath, still unable to accept that the Tyrant would have such capabilities and not make greater use of them.
“Of course, securing her services will not be easy,” his mother warned while steering his father and their collective assemblage back toward the centre of the city once more. “I have been told that she should be considered quite particular with whom she does business and will not hesitate to make outrageous demands if pressured.”
“We can assume the Asrusians already have many Gateways at their disposal then,” his father growled irritably, still sore over the agreement he had been forced to make to secure their former enemy’s assistance against the Confederates.
“I cannot be certain,” his mother hedged conspiratorially, “But I strongly suspect that the personal ownership of Gateways is being artificially restricted. Which, if true, means the Asrusians' advantage is far less significant than we originally feared.”
“We can only hope,” his father replied dourly. “This is an immense opportunity, but it feels like we are wandering blind in a blizzard. One wrong step could see us ruined beyond all hope of recovery, and we wouldn’t know it until it’s too late.”
“It is dire, and the path is difficult to see,” his mother admitted, “However, the tracks are there. We just need to take things slow while I learn from our rivals' mistakes. Because you can rest assured that the Tyrant had ulterior motives for this campaign of compassion.”
“What do you mean?” His father asked guardedly.
“All the merchants have confirmed that the Asrusians were in a place of favour until quite recently. Then, without warning, they were set aside.” His mother rested her index finger against her lips and smirked slyly. “I strongly suspect that their Lord Regent, or most likely one of their high-ranking officers, made a misstep of some kind and soured their relationship with the Tyrant. If true, it would mean that our presence is intended to serve as a means of keeping the Asrusians in check.”
His father’s scowl deepened. “We don’t have the resources for that, and it will take months to bring our Kingdom into any semblance of order, and years to become truly stable.”
“Assuming we do not have outside assistance,” his mother agreed, her smile widening ever so slightly. “After all, we would be able to fulfil our intended role much more effectively if the right people acknowledged it was in their best interests...”
Vidam wasn’t sure his mother was correct in her assumptions, but he lacked her political instincts and knew better than to second-guess his mother in front of his father.
Keenly aware that his presence was not required, Vidam decided to seek out the comfort of a warm bed, and with any luck, a warm and willing partner to share it with.
