Forums

Talk quickly begun to spread among the Imperial Court of arranged meetings between the Empress Vecta and Duke Arthan of Blackmarch. All eyes waited still for winter to end, to see where the Empress' next piece would land. The Kandarin nobility and people in Asgarnia had not been forgotten and the crimes of Jane Grey had still not been met with equal justice.

But the Empress' stance did not wavier. No matter the cries from the warhawks that lingered the halls of her Court.

The Empire would know peace and stability, war would only bring chaos.

The Sunlit Hall and it’s Crimson Throne was the center of the Empire and for it the hall was without equal. Marble ground with marble pillars. Dark rich red rugs lead the way onwards. Trophies hung from the walls, paintings of the far off corners of Kandarin. Showing both the horror and beauty of Kandar history through escapes to the past.

Though today, there was an unearthly silence that gripped the crowd. For each Minister, each noble and each counselor had been summoned to Ardougne, summoned for this moment.

Talk had long swirled through the halls of the Palace. Of a petition brought before the Empress’ desk. Bearing popular support from the major landed nobility from across the Empire. But such talk, was only that, talk. Was it not? Surely such rumours were too outrageous to be true. The Empire knew peace, it knew stability. No wars were waged in greed, no imaginable amount of death for a plot of land on the far side of the world.

Trade flowed, gold filled the coffers and taxes were reasonable. A petition signed by the ranking nobility to break up the united Kandarin would be out of the question.

But instead of sureness, silence was their answer. The nervous air in the room told more than it should’ve. Something was to be announced, something that some looked for at glee and others that wondered what could be gain from agreeing to the petition.

Lined upon the right side of the room and curled upwards to the Crimson Throne, were the fabled Dragon Knights. The right fist of Imperial rule. Their crimson armor danced in the sunlight. Lined upon the left, contrasting to the rich red of the Dragon Knights, were the darkly armored members of the Vectori. The left fist of Imperial rule, whose renown with swordsmanship was only out classed by that of magic.

The Crimson throne itself, raised upon ten marble steps and sat over a wooden platform was empty. Leaving more room to wonder, in Empress Vecta’s regin, she was never late, always early. Refusing to allow the throne to be seen empty by the masses of her Court. If she was the face of the Empire, than the Throne was the voice. The ranking commander of both the Dragon Knights and Vectori stood some inches away from the left and right side of the throne, both their eyes cast downwards to the overly packed throne room.

Did they already know what was to come?

Each and every head turned when the study oak doors opened. Quickly the crowd fell to a hurried knee, the marching two lines of Vectori and Dragon Knights entered first, before the Empress herself marched into the room.

Her steel armor was darkened, a near black. With hues of a rich purple, outlining the Vekonic direwolf upon her breastplate. The hilt of an ages old longsword peeked from her hip, her strong palm closed around it as light violet eyes scanned back and forth. Her chin angled upwards still, the jagged Crimson Crown of King Vectic resting upon her heavy brow. Dirty blonde hair fell into short curls just past her shoulder blades, barely touching a rich dark lined fur cloak.

Empress Vecta was not her Father. While Emperor Axel united the Empire, Vecta built it. Each road in the Empire lead to the gates of Ardougne, each citizen knew it’s duty to their Empress and Empire. Would the decades of Imperialization be done away with a simple swipe of her right hand?

The Empress took the marble steps up to the single Crimson Throne. Her right hand reached across her body and drew her sword from her hip as she twisted her body to claim the throne. Long calloused gloved fingers curled around the hilt of the sword as she sat, her free hand went to curl around the armest.

The hall remained silent, drawing attention when the Empress’ hearld moved from her right side and cleared his throat, the young boy that the Empress had taken in had matured underneath her watchful mentorship, “Presenting Her Imperial and Royal Majesty,..”

“There’s no need for that, Phillipe.” Vecta’s voice cuts through the teenager’s speech. It left the herald stunned in silence, forcing him to take a step back behind the throne, as was his place.

Vecta’s eyes left the hearld and scanned out over the hall. She didnt stand from the throne and instead leaned back into the Sunlit Throne, “This silence that hangs is a dreadful disease. Lingering in every hall and staircase. Every conversation and every whisper. It is time to put the whispers to rest.”

“This Empire has known peace. From the Burthorpe Wall and to the base of the Arandor Mountains. When my Father, Emperor Axel, united these scattered lands, our homelands suffered from mismanagement. Foreign threats and internal plagued our halls. And in the decades that have followed, peace has reigned when war did. Where chaos filled our hearts with fear, happiness replaced it with joy.”

Vecta took a pause, leaving the sword to rest on the side of the throne and took a small step forward, her voice carrying out over the otherwise empty room, “When I rose to the throne, my job was simple. Rebuild and thrive. And thrive we have in the past decades. But as our coffers swell, so does the corruption of my own government. Eyes look outwards, to our neighbors, whispers of Imperialism greed staining what we have built here in our homes.”

“The petition is true. A restoration of the independent Crowns of Kandarin. Freedom to the people of the Fremennik. And lastly, the recognition of an independent Burthorpe State, ruled neither by Kandarin nor Asgarnia.”

A chorus of whispers rose through the hall of the room. With some yelling out in the direction of the Empress but Vecta rose her right hand, calling for silence once more, “I have always stated that the day the People wished for independence, I would grant it if a simple majority ruled. And in the past months, I have travelled the far scope of the Empire. Dining with both the nobility, merchants and peasants. From the highest Lord to the lowest gutter rat. It is the end of the Empire that seems to be wanted. This centralized State has swelled, and so the Crown has swollen.”

“The fragile states and colonies that were pressed together to form this Empire are not as were found. Each has its rich sense of identity. It’s own history and economy. They suffer now from an overbeing Empire. A fact that can no longer be denied.”

“In the coming months, the Imperial institutions shall be disbanded. In each region, an election shall be held from the nobility and wealthy landowners to elect their next monarch. The localized Legions shall stay, to oversee the transfer of power, then too, the Imperial Legions shall be disbanded, with due pay and pensions paid out in full. The localized legions shall make up the first of each of these new Kingdoms fighting forces.”

“Matters will be formalized in the coming weeks. Saradomin Bless Kandarin and Forever Walk in his Light.”