"The Moderator + Plotline I extremely enjoyed (reading/participating)"Mid-Summer, Era XXVI Post-Primesplosion
Evening fell upon the camps when suns' light conceded the day to the darkness. A constellation of stars soon blinked into existence -- but not celestial bodies seated among the gods above. No, these specks of illumination were borne from cook fires, torches, lanterns, and even a few tricks from hedge wizards and surviving academy apprentices. The handful of guards that the city could spare lit fire braziers, huddling around for warmth while they cast lots for a turn at patrols. During better times, anyone passing on the King's Road might have thought that the merchant lords of Portshire were throwing a tourney or festival. The grassy hills and knolls surrounding the city were covered in a small ocean of tents, wagons, animals, and people. The mood might have even seemed festive if the travelers saw the sights and heard the milling crowds from afar. For the people of the Empire were hardy as ever. Within the span of their short lives, they had seen their Empire become a Kingdom and their Prince replaced by a Bandit-General-turned-Empress. If the wars of yesteryears taught them anything, it was the will to survive.
And that very instinct was what led them all here.
It took the collective political and financial will of Portshire's elite to keep the flood of people outside their walls. Guards were bribed, inns and taverns closed, and their own residents threatened. Not even those with family or distant relatives were afforded entry. But the first few dozen who were turned away did not quite leave. The few soon became a great many as refugees flocked from the Countryside. Pockets of tents and makeshift dwellings turned into hundreds upon hundreds until the rolling plains beyond the southern walls teemed with campfires and voices and music and life. This went on for a cycle and still the dire and terrible news continued to spread like wildfire. After the Imperial Courier service was disbanded following the destruction of the Western Realms and the rise of Rhysatra, the Empire suddenly seemed immense and disparate. Only the most crucial of matters warranted the cost of a messenger. Now, it seemed, every washerwoman and cook in Portshire knew about the burning fields in Garenburg; the fishmongers talked of the villages along the River Ioannes put to the torch; and stable boys and servants were discussing the political standing of Caronis Keep with the Titan of Aslan missing in action.
--
Thane Holland was once again cursing his decision to come out of retirement. In truth, he was technically only Thane Pro Tempore until the City Council could declare a replacement. Between the city's rather controversial (read: scandalous) appointment of an orc, they were quite content to have him on a consultancy basis.
"Bloody good time to be a consultant", growled the balding man in his sixties as he looked out from the window of the Thane's Manor facing the Southern Gate. Even with the stone walls between him and the encampments, he could see the haze of the gathered fires and smell the smoke from their pits. It looked like an invading army was camping outside his bloody walls!
"General", said the Thane as he waddled back to his desk. Today he opted for a crisp navy jacket with matching trousers that were tailored to accommodate his considerable girth.
A middle aged soldier stepped into the spacious office. He wore a stern expression fixed behind an impressive walrus mustache. "Your Grace?"
General Costa was the captain of the Sapphire Guard. The old lion was a lifer like him, Holland thought with amusement. How many thanes had this man faithfully served? Not even the orc could turn the man's stomach. He was a loyal soldier and a good man.
"Did we hear back from the Legions? How many runners did we --?"
"Five riders just this morning, Your Grace", Costa replied quickly. The general had a habit of cutting him off. But Holland had long since forgiven the soldier for that small defect. "We have sent more than twice that many since the refugees arrived."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing, Your Grace."
Holland made a face, which the captain took as his cue to retreat from the Thane's study. He closed the double doors with a soft click.
The bitch was going to let them all die, he thought grimly. No word. Not even a letter from the Capital. No legions. No Empress. Nothing.
"Our offer stands, Your Grace", a soft, accented voice said from the other side of his study.
Holland scowled though the Representative's silken tones made him shiver. The Thane had nearly forgotten that he was still here.
"I will not abandon my office --"
"You were hired as a consultant, I believe?"
The Thane could forgive General Costa but not this man for interrupting him. His face reddened even as he spoke with all the authority he could muster. "I am Thane", he bellowed. "I will not set sail until these people -- my people -- are safe!"
His guest made a 'tsk' sound. It aroused even more fury from the pit of his stomach. Thane Holland could feel his ears getting hot.
The merchants appointed a formal Representative on the Council. He was an immense Arakmatian fellow who donned brightly colored silks, a turban, and wore more gems and jewelry than any concubine or consort in the city. His ebony skin gleamed under the candlelight even as his almond eyes continued to regard Holland with unblinking intensity.
In truth, the seat was bought by the merchant lords -- along every other other ass that sat on every seat in the City Council. Holland did not discover this until he heard his colleagues parroting the demands of Portshire's wealthiest houses. So when the refugees started spilling into the city, Holland was horrorstruck when the Council unanimously voted to close the gates. Not once in his political career had the council agreed on a course of action so quickly — and with all voting members forgoing the chance to pontificate and debate.
Their reasons and motivations soon became clear.
By evenfall after that council session, Holland learned that each member of his City Council had taken their families and as much belongings and treasure they could carry into ships set for Abestat, Demios, with some as far as Ieffreon. The cowards and liars had barred the doors behind them to ensure their escape.
"You take me for a rat, my lord?", demanded Holland.
The Representative smiled sadly. "The last ship leaves at first light, Your Grace", said the Arakmatian. "I will be aboard with the remainder of my employ. You are welcome to join me, as my honored guest." When at last he was alone, Holland collapsed onto the high backed chair. He suddenly felt his age. His bones ached and he couldn't recall the last time he had a full night's rest.
"General", said Holland and a few moments later, the captain of the Sapphire Guards was standing in front of the Thane's great oak desk. "I-I think it's time."
Costa nodded and turned to leave.
"There is room on that ship, you know", Holland called after the old lion. He wondered if Costa ever even considered retirement. Eunesia was supposed to be lovely this time of year.
General Costa turned back to face the Thane Pro Tempore. For a moment, it seemed as though the soldier was weighing his words. Then he said, "I will have a report for you on the morrow, Your Grace."
Holland sighed. If no one would answer from the Capital, then it was time for their riders and messengers to find allies to the north, south, and east. If this was to be the fate of Portshire, Holland thought, then at least he would be there to see it ...to the end.
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