[img]https://i.imgur.com/ppt73wc.jpg[/img] [b]February, 1907[/b] [i]Capitol of Avalia, Alolvi[/i] The door flew open, a flustered, angry Valkyrian man stood, glaring at the Field Marshal before him. “Adron! You mad man! Years of your life! Your countrymen’s lives! You will throw it all away?!” He screamed at Adron, who stood motionless, facing away. “I did what I had to do, Captain. That is all. It’s my duty to my nation, my countrymen, and my own life that I tear down this monarchy, at the end of my bayonet.” Adron responded softly, still facing away from the Captain. The Captain scoffed. “Ha! Even now you spout lies to my very face, your closest friend! ‘Your countrymen’?! Don’t act as though you are something you are not. You’re no ‘hero’ of the people Adron, no matter what southern weasel Kurtti says. You didn’t massacre the nobility in the name of freedom! You did it for Mika!”. At this, the Field Marshal began to shake. Suddenly, he turned, finally facing the man had called his bluff. The only one who could ever call his poker face. He was an old man, greying black hair, cut to a professional length, though his heavy stubble and darkened, bagged eyes betrayed he had not slept since the coup. His face was well worn overall, showing the many years he had spent campaigning overseas for the Imperium well back before all of this. Before he beheaded his own king. Despite his age and exhausted appearance, his piercing blue eyes showed a hint of danger, his stance and body showed that he was no retired armchair general. No, he was Field Marshal Adron, a man who had fought his way to the top from the very bottom. A man who had dueled plenty to keep his well earned rank and honor. The man who climbed the walls of the savage’s fortress against their wild sorcery when he was only a 19 year old sergeant. Field Marshal Adron was, perhaps, one of the only few men in the world that could truly, honestly claim to have completely and utterly earned their position. “Of course it was about Mika! It was about Mika! It was about Valkyrians! It was about the people of Avalia! They would have destroyed Avalia as we know it. We would have been slaves in all but name. The people are starving, the nation suffered under Holfgar and would have continued suffering more. That is why I sent Holfgar and the nobility to the guillotine.” Adron roared at The Captain. The Captain took a step back, stunned. Adron’s tone lowered, his eyes narrowing. “It matters not who wins the war of the Twin Emperors. The age of Yllendyr dominance is over. Their petty war… they’re fighting for scraps of an angry, dying empire…” Adron then gave a bitter smile. “In a small way, I almost wish I could thank those fools. I had planned to take on all of Yllendyr, but now it seems I will only have to rally the homeland while they’re busy demonstrating why the Age of Kings is dead.” The Captain’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing. “Then why him? Why Kurtti? ‘Every Valkyrian a King, every man a savior’ he keeps spouting. Pah, you know what his trigger men do? What they have done? Anyone who opposes the NLAP is silenced! At best with a beating, at worse… at worse…! Why? Why do you support that man?!” The Captain yelled, frustration seeping through every word. “Why not the republicans, who are actually trying to give every man a chance? A say in the way things are done! Why?!” Adron stared for a moment, before shaking his head. “You want to know why? All right I’ll tell you. Not like it matters anymore, seeing how there’s no need to keep anything a secret. Because they wouldn’t do it.” Adron said firmly. The Captain stared dumbfounded for a few moments, before realization struck him. “You’re… you’re saying…” “Indeed. They never wanted to get rid of their King, merely replace him. Kurtti on the other hand…” [hr] [img]https://i.imgur.com/qhIjnfU.png[/img] [b]February, 1907[/b] [i]The northern city of Adrean. [/i] Lucas pulled his wide brimmed hat down as he passed a group of royalist troops. The streets of central Adrean bustled with activity reinforcements and supplies to the not so distant barricades that surrounded the central city. The forces had made great progress with the help of the local King’s Guard, but the partisans and nationalist police force was putting up a bitter last stand in lower industrial quadrant near the river. From what he could gather, they were evacuating the citizens who wanted to swear allegiance to this upstart republic, and Lady Bennick had every intention of returning Adron the favor and dropping these upstart’s heads in baskets. Sighing, Lucas ducked into an alleyway, following it to a back door. Pausing for a moment, he entered. The room was musty and dimly lit by the light seeping in from the boarded up windows. A man facing away from Lucas sat at the abandoned bar near the far end of the room while two other men quietly smoked at a table. “You’re late, Crown.” The voice came from the man at the bar, still facing away from Lucas. “Sorry, Hammer, the fighting picked up right as I crossed back over the line. Nobody told me the attack schedule had changed.” Lucas replied casually, though his tone betrayed his annoyance. Hammer snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “You know as well as I do how zealous the King’s Guard can be when dealing with traitors. Speaking of, your assignment. Do we have that bastard yet? Lady Bennick is growing impatient.” Lucas starred hard at his feet, his hands clenched tightly into fists. “No, the Ghost of the Sky alluded our trap again. We lost Shovel and Hoe during the raid. The Gho-” “Don’t speak that bastard’s fancy title again here. Oscar Howler is a murderer and a traitor, no more no less.” Hammer interrupted as he finally turned to face Lucas. Hammer’s hard, menacing gaze rested on Lucas, causing him to shift uncomfortably before he could stop himself. “We have our names to protect ourselves. Hammer, Crown, Shovel, Hoe, Axe, we call ourselves these things to confuse our enemies and tell our friends all they need to know about us. Oscar murders three officers, ten loyal officials, and neary takes our lady’s head off without even being seen half the fucking time, and thus, gets a fancy, romantic name from the locals like he’s some vengeful fucking angel of death!” Hammer now got up out of his seat, addressing the rest of the men and women in the room. “No. He is a Valkyrian, pure and fucking simple who can pull of good shots. This does not make him a ghost, a god, or anything else! It only makes him a traitor, and like the rest of these traitors, it’s our job to make sure his head is in a basket before this war ends.” Hammer’s gaze returned to Lucas. “Take Wrench and Pickaxe and start shadowing the bastard again.” Lucas nodded, “Yes sir. I will see to it.” Suddenly, Hammer crossed the room in two great strides and was suddenly face to face with Lucas. Leaning in, Hammer said quietly. “Don’t fuck this up, boy, or all of our heads will be in baskets.” [hr] [img]https://i.imgur.com/d2jtxvA.png[/img] [b]February, 1907[/b] [i]Somewhere in the Avalian countryside[/i] “It’s an odd burden… really. Or perhaps, a strange feeling? Shame nobody has seemingly ever dealt with this before, for I’d certainly need their council now more than ever… To be reborn, to have memories of another life that are yet yours returned to you. To feel a terrifying and yet, familiar power flow through your own body. It certainly is an indescribable phenomenon.” A man, draped in flowing blue, white and deep red robes walked down the ancient hallways, only accompanied by a young girl. His head was masked, meticulously wrapped in bands of grey-white silk under a seemingly modest crown. From his head to his feet, not a single sign of flesh showed. “Well your Majesty, I’ve heard rumors that ancient Emperors of the Yllendyr, ones who are true heirs to the throne, are granted a similar power. “ The young girl spoke. She was a Valkyrian, and an odd one at that. Her face bore a horrible scar that blinds and discolours her right eye. Her right wing appears clipped in random places along the edge and her movements seemed to be very deliberate and slightly pained. “Really now? Huh, perhaps once the twins have finished spilling their own blood, I may ask them if it is true. I am in dire need of some sympathetic company right now.” The masked man said bemused. The girl pouted and stopped walking, causing the masked man to halt as well, facing her. “What?” “That was a mean thing to say, your Majesty.” she huffed, turing away with a scoff. The masked man tilted his head for a moment, before shrugging and continuing onward. “Strange that you’d be so jealous of long dead elves, Viti.” The man said with a laugh. Viti turned, flustered and angry, before jogging to catch up with him. She berated and berated the poor man while he merely smiled under his wrapping. They finally arrived at the end of the long halls, two large, ornate wooden doors opened before them seemingly automatically, revealing a large chamber perfectly carved from stone. Before them was a long stone table, sitting 20 men and women. Valkyrians and humans alike sat at this table, wearing similar robes that the masked man wore, but had no crowns on their heads. Near the end of the table, a massive, stone throne stood. Intricate carvings speaking a long forgotten language snaked their way around the throne, all meeting in a center point at the very top. Greeting the pair was a middle age human, his hair a sandy blonde, his face obscured by a well kept beard. “My king, we are ready at once. Across the Valley of Saints, devout followers are rising up and claiming land in your name. By the end of this month, we shall control the entire area. Imperium Legions are to distracted by that vengeful Field Marshal’s treachery to tell the difference and those fools in the Lands of the Darkened Hills are certainly helping in that regard. However, while your holy light shows brightly to the people of the Valley of Saints, it seems it can only be spread but so far from your throne.” As the blonde man spoke, the masked man walked silently past the table and sat upon the throne. His throne. He was called by many titles by many men. The Veiled King, The Revelation, The Cultist, and The Mad Peasant King. It never ceased to impress him, the creativity that both friend and foe put into such titles. However, in his mind, he was only worthy of one. The King of the Sky. “Very well, once we have organized our levys and the Strayer’s Mad Lancers arrive, we can begin to make out move.” The King of the Sky spoke. Unlike before, his voice now carried a near magical depth to it, radiating outward almost unnaturally. “And who shall we face first with our divine crusade, my king?” The blonde man asked. “Adron his a tragic figure. I remember, in the life before my awakening, watching with a lead heart as his wife’s head hit the ground. King Harold Holfgar the VIII would have been the first man of this country to receive my divine judgement. However Adron’s actions cannot be ignored. His godless servant Kurtti controls our holy city, my original throne. They beheaded many of my subjects without divine judgement, but for far more selfish, personal reasons. No, that is no way to rule one's people. The NLAP is a living example of how good intentions can pave the way to damnation. They are emotions let loose on our land to tear it to pieces, and leave none standing. For this, we must concentrate on them first.” “As you wish, your Majesty.”