Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [QUESTION] "How have the Takarans and the Kian responded to Wulfram's uprising?"

The Countess gives you a bitter little smile. "The Grand Staff of the Great Kian have made a statement of 'grave concern regarding the current instabilities in the Northern Kingdoms, and urge that all involved parties work together to ensure the stability of the region,' their words precisely."

"Grave concern? That sounds promising. They're watching."

"And they'll do precious little else," the Countess replies sourly. "That is what 'grave concern' tends to mean. They'll sit back, let us kill each other, and then sell the survivors wood for the pyres. So long as they're able to do business with whoever remains, they'll be satisfied—at least unless the Takarans involve themselves openly."

Your eyebrow raises. "And have they shown any indication of doing so? The Takarans, I mean."

"There's been no evidence of it," the Countess admits. "We have rumours that they're conducting secret negotiations with Wulfram to supply him with arms and advisors, but they're only rumours. Certainly nothing which can be spoken of with confidence."

"Is that still not cause for concern?" you ask.

She answers with a thin-lipped smile. "It is, but no more than it ought to have been a year ago. We've known the Takarans to favour Wulfram for some time. The possibility that they're moving to offer him aid directly comes as little surprise."

[X] [QUESTION] "Have you any intelligence as to Wulfram's intentions?"

"Nothing of particular use," the Countess replies. "Wulfram is in Tannersburg, where he's taking measures to consolidate his power, appointing his most trusted allies to positions of authority and raising an army. There are rumours that he has secured some manner of accommodation with the Takarans, but the specifics of that agreement aren't known to me or my sources."

She gives you a flat, rather frustrated look. "In short, we know enough to know what everyone else does: that Wulfram intends to fight to achieve his objectives. As to what those objectives are beyond the overthrow of the Crown, and how he means to achieve those objectives? We have only hearsay and rumour."

"So there's no hope for reconciliation?" you ask, trying to keep the note of dismay from your voice. "None at all?"

The Countess' frown deepens. "A man of reason does not treat for peace whilst openly preparing for war. Even if there had been any chance at all of a negotiated outcome when Wulfram fled Aetoria, he's certainly gone and destroyed it now."

So it is to be war then, inevitable and unavoidable. Your allies, no doubt, will put the blame wholly on Wulfram's vanity and ambition. Your enemies likewise on the Queen's intransigence. Yet the cause will make little difference to those who will see their homes burned, their lands ravaged. It will make little difference to those who will starve in the wake of marauding armies or die on the field of battle, slain by their own countrymen.

Yet the Countess' expression shows little fresh anxiety regarding the matter. She expected this eventuality, and has likely long since grown comfortable with it.

A moment of silence follows. The Countess clearly intends to say something new, but from the look of worry and dread on her face, you cannot tell whether she's trying to force the words out, or keep them inside.

She breathes in, then out. Her composure returns, then shakes apart again.

At last, she speaks.

"Alaric, they have Ellie."

Her words come as a considerable blow. For the Countess to use your given name is shock enough, but to couple that with—

"What?"

"Ellie—Countess Welles. She was at Northern Pillars compiling a report on the forces there for the Queen when Wulfram staged his attempt to seize the capital," she replies hesitantly, as if giving breath to each word was an ordeal. "When the Northern Fleet declared for him, their base did as well. It was likely pre-arranged, planned. She was placed under arrest that very same moment, and has remained so."

Saints be damned.

[ ] [WELLES] "Is she in any danger?"
[ ] [WELLES] "How could the Queen put her in such danger?"
[ ] [WELLES] "Could we not arrange an exchange of prisoners to get her back?"
[ ] [WELLES] "We can stage a rescue. We have the resources betwixt us."

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [WELLES] "We can stage a rescue. We have the resources betwixt us."

The Countess' eyebrow raises. "Do we?"

"Surely Royal Intelligence still has agents within the base at the Northern Pillars?" you begin, your mind working rapidly. "All we would need to do is ascertain where she's being kept. Once we have that intelligence, then—"

"Then what, my lord?" the Countess interjects. "You are the soldier here, so I must defer to your knowledge, but we're talking about the Northern Pillars, a fortified harbour guarded by water batteries and fortified posts on all sides. They have hundreds of Marines, thousands of sailors and the whole of the Northern Fleet to guard it. We have the half-organised foundations of what might in some time become an army. The nearest troops we've trained in the process of landing from the sea are in Leoniscourt, and the nearest squadron of ships we have capable of getting them into position are in Havenport. Am I wrong?"

You try to argue otherwise, to find something which the Countess has overlooked, but you cannot. You shake your head.

"Perhaps the course of events will ensure that we may have the means to mount such a rescue in the future, but until then, it's a risk that cannot be warranted and cannot be bourne."

She looks away, her voice almost a whisper. "…however much I might wish otherwise."

You're about to inquire further when the coach lurches to a halt, not twenty paces from the foyer of the Northern Keep.

Almost immediately, liveried footmen appear at the doors, ushering the Countess out the side facing the entry hall, and you out the other. She spares you one last look over her shoulder before she steps out. By the time you yourself make it around to the other side of the coach, she's already gone.

It seems the time for questions is over.

-​

The footman only takes you as far as the entry hall, where a pair of Grenadiers are waiting to take you further, beyond a new series of doors, through a side corridor, past three more pairs of guards, and down the now half-familiar route to the Privy Council chamber.

The Queen is waiting for you there, alone, dressed much as she was when last you saw her; in the uniform of a Grenadier officer. This time, however, she wears not the rank insignia of a colonel at her collar, but the diamond-studded crowns of the General-Royal—a rank reserved solely for the sovereigns of the Unified Kingdom.

It's a subtle statement, but it's one you cannot ignore: the last time you spoke, it was as a soldier to a superior officer. This time, she means to address you as sovereign to subject, not to seek counsel but to command, to judge, perhaps to reward…

Or to punish.

"My Lord Reddingfield," she begins, her voice as controlled and imperious as ever. "We regret that we've yet the opportunity to congratulate you on the most glorious victory you won in our name."

Your spurs jangle as you snap to attention, as a junior officer reporting to a superior. "I thank you for your praise, Majesty," you reply. You suppose the less said about the losses which you had to take to secure such a victory, the better.

The Queen offers you a tight-lipped smile. "Such praise is, I think, well-warranted: you took up arms to deliver us from direct peril. You drove a determined foe from a fortified position and made safe our capital from its enemies. Most of all, you demonstrated your extraordinary and complete loyalty to the Crown and to the good of the country once again. Those are actions to take pride in."

"I am at your service, Majesty," you reply, almost as a reflex.

"Are you?" the Queen replies with a cold, dangerous look. "I am very glad of it, for I intend to make very excellent use of it."

You incline your head politely. "I need only know in what capacity I am to be of service, Majesty."

So this is what this meeting is about. The Queen is not here to judge, she is here to assign you some new responsibility.

But that only leaves you with one question. "In what capacity am I to serve, Majesty?"

"First of all, as commanding officer of the regiment you now lead," the Queen replies. "I trust you will not object to that appointment?"

[X] "With respect, Majesty, the Duke of Cunaris leads the regiment, not I."

The Queen's lips curl into what is almost a sneer. "Does he? We had not noticed, as he was not at the head of this regiment he purports to lead during the late crisis, and continues to be absent after having been called to arms. We must assume that he has abdicated that duty."

"With respect, Majesty," you reply, leaping to your old commanding officer's defence. "The regiment was raised with his funds, and those of his House. Surely that entitles to him to its proprietorship?"

"If Cunaris wishes so greatly to lead a regiment into battle once more, then he may take the men he still has in Fernandescourt and raise another," the Queen answers, her words too sharp and too hard to brook any further disagreement. "As for this regiment, which he has abandoned here, the obligation of seeing it paid and maintained falls to us, as Sovereign and General-Royal. That is a responsibility we mean to take seriously, and it obliges us to see to the provisioning of its horses and men, the supply of its armaments, and the appointment of its officers."

You want to object, to find some means of defending your old mentor's prerogatives, to protest that it was only under the greatest torment that Cunaris had left Aetoria, to argue at least that it might be passed on to Lord Renard, who still holds an active commission within it.

But in the end, you must admit that the Queen is right. Cunaris left the regiment on the eve of its greatest peril. Were a lesser man to have done so, it would have been considered desertion. The Queen may have taken possession of the Dragoons only by right of salvage, but she has them nonetheless.

Of course, the Queen herself cannot read such thoughts. Indeed, she seems to have taken your pensive silence for a certain measure of acceptance, or at least consent.

"Now then," she says, "shall we continue, or do you still have further objections?"

[X] "Surely there are better candidates for such a position?"

The Queen's eyebrow raises. "Is that so? Then surely you could name them? They certainly do not occur to me."

You try your best to do so, but all the others you could possibly think quickly invalidate themselves: some are too junior in rank, others lack experience in the command of bodies of horse. Others still, you could not imagine leaving their present posts, while the few who aren't made impossible choices by such factors are dead, with the enemy, or otherwise trapped in Kentaur with the Duke of Havenport.

Only you and Lord Renard remain, and you very much doubt that the Queen would be well-disposed towards the latter.

"No, perhaps you are right, Majesty," you concede. "I can think of no better candidates."

The Queen nods with a look of quiet satisfaction. "Then we trust you will accept the commission?"

[X] "It will be as you command, Majesty."

"Very good," the Queen replies, curtly, matter-of-factly, as if in the end, you could have offered no other reply. "Before we go on, we should like to inform you that we intend a number of changes regarding the nature of the regiment."

"Changes?" What does the Queen mean by that? What could she intend by offering you formal command of the regiment, only to make some new decree regarding its structure?

"We are given to understand that your regiment possesses a reputation," the Queen continues, as if ignoring your question entirely. "At the beginning of the war in Antar, that reputation was a feeble one, of a regiment barely worthy to be considered cavalry at all, untested in battle, unsuitable for any useful purpose. Have we understood correctly?"

"You have, Majesty," you reply reluctantly. "But that reputation has been much enhanced over the years."

The Queen nods. "Yes, we are aware of that too. It was the Dragoons which held the left flank at such cost at Blogia, who stormed the breach at Kharangia, who held the flank against Prince Khorobirit's army. At the crucial moment, when treason roused itself about us, it was your regiment which rode to our rescue and preserved the Crown, even though the man who was meant to lead you had abdicated his position." She favours you with a smile, thin-lipped as ever, but warm and sincere all the same. "The service which you and your men gave our predecessor was exemplary. The service you rendered unto us, vital. It deserves to be rewarded better than to languish in a spot in the middle of the order of precedence, under the colonelcy of a man who has proven unworthy of its illustrious deeds."

She steps forward then, her voice swelling to fill the whole of the room, as if she were addressing not only you, but the whole of your regiment besides. "From this moment onwards, you shall be the Queen's Own Dragoon Guards: first in precedence among the regiments of horse, and second overall behind the Grenadiers."

In truth, you weren't expecting that. Some re-organisation or shift in the order of precedence, but to have Cunaris replaced as Colonel by the Queen herself? To be named a Guards regiment? Of the same calibre as the Grenadiers, and the Takaran Imperial Life Guards, and the Kian Imperial Household Regiments besides? Saints above.

The Queen, you suspect, has taken note of at least some of your shock, for when she turns back to you, that grin has blossomed into a look of utmost satisfaction.

"So what do you think of that, my lord?"

[ ] [GUARDS] "I assure you, the regiment shall make itself worthy of such an honour."
[ ] [GUARDS] "Does this mean you'll trust us with the thickest of the fighting?"
[ ] [GUARDS] "Will such an honour come with supplies? Pay? Reinforcements?"

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [GUARDS] "I assure you, the regiment shall make itself worthy of such an honour."

The Queen gives you a look of some small amusement. "My lord, we are not in the practise of handing out accolades which are not well-deserved. You may rest assured, sir, that this honour is one that your regiment—and its commanding officer—have already earned. The challenge now is to remain worthy of that honour. We have little doubt that you are equal to such an obligation."

At such words, you feel your heart glow despite yourself. "We shall not fail you, Majesty."

"Then I shall not expect you to," the Queen replies gravely, the weight of her expectations all but implicit in her words.

You nod. "Will that be all, Your Majesty?"

"Not quite," your sovereign replies. "There is another matter of business: we are given to understand that you possess several years of seniority in your current rank?"

You do your best to keep your confusion in check. What is she getting at now? Surely if she wished to ascertain the status of your seniority, she ought to have done so before permanently confirming you to field command of the regiment. "Yes, Majesty, six years next spring."

The Queen nods with satisfaction. "Good, we must suppose that will be sufficient to ensure that you're able to establish your authority in your new responsibilities."

Authority? New responsibilities? "I'm not sure I understand. Your Majesty has just confirmed my command of the regiment. Am I now to be reassigned?"

"Not quite, my lord. You will command the regiment, sir—but you will also command the brigade it is attached to."

[ ] [BRIGADE] A brigade! Imagine what I might accomplish with such a command!
[ ] [BRIGADE] Alas, such a senior command will render me too senior to lead from the front.
[ ] [BRIGADE] How wonderful, I shall rise too high to salvage myself when I inevitably fail.
[ ] [BRIGADE] I cannot say I shall enjoy being responsible for so many lives.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [BRIGADE] A brigade! Imagine what I might accomplish with such a command!

There's little doubt that you could have done much to burnish your reputation and fortunes at the head of a regiment, but to be able to face the oncoming crisis with all the powers and resources of a General-of-Brigade is an entirely different calibre of opportunity altogether. Such an appointment will not only place you firmly in the senior ranks of an army which now very much seems to be headed for a general war, but will give you personal control over a considerable portion of the forces to be involved. Not only will you be responsible for the men of your regiment, but thousands of others, with authority over great swathes of territory and vital aspects of overall strategy. If you succeed in such a high position, you may stand not only to be seen as one of the great protagonists of the conflict to come, but perhaps even a vital element in its successful outcome.

Your previous accomplishments have already made you well-regarded among certain circles, but here, now, the Queen has given you the opportunity to be more than that. You may well find yourself not only a hero of the regiment or the army, but of the whole of the country.

All you would need to do is prove yourself worthy—a task you consider yourself well capable of.

But that's no reason to put the cart before the horse. All you know of your brigade is that you are to have one. To spin hopes and anxieties about your time at its head before you even know of its composition or its purpose would be like loosing sails before fitting the masts.

Thankfully, you have quite literally the highest authority on such matters standing before you this very moment.

"Majesty, I have certain questions about the brigade I am to command."

The Queen smiles. "Of course, my lord. We shall do our best to answer."

[X] "What other regiments will make up my new command?"

The Queen frowns. "That is a question to which nobody has an answer, we fear. The men intended for your command are not the sort who have come already organised. They are not yet formed up into regiments."

It takes a moment before you realise the full implications of your sovereign's words. "Am I to understand that the remainder of my brigade is to be composed entirely of militia and Houseguard units?"

Another might have offered some platitude to soften her answer, a euphemism to make the situation sound better than it is. But the Queen doesn't so much as hesitate. "It does, my lord. We have too little in the way of professional soldiery to concentrate it. Thus, we have chosen to spread those forces as widely as possible amongst those without drill or experience. Your Dragoons will serve as the hard core, to stiffen the resolve of the others and show them the ways and means of soldiering. The remainder will be obliged to learn, and in time become soldiers no less stern in mettle."

You nod. In truth, you couldn't imagine a better way of doing it. True, the Queen would be much better off in the short term by brigading the best parts of her forces together, but where would that leave the rest? She would have at her disposal one force of experienced and disciplined soldiers, but the rest would be little more than rabble, dubiously equipped and trained, the bad habits of civil life reinforcing each other and eroding whatever military air they might have otherwise obtained. Such a force cannot win the war that's coming, where the Queen's forces shall be obliged to be everywhere at once.

"I understand, Majesty," you finally reply. "And I shall endeavour to do my utmost to ensure that your expectations are met."

The Queen smiles. "Good, then on this matter, at least, we understand each other."

[X] "Won't more senior officers take umbrage if I am to receive a brigade before them?"

The Queen's eyebrow raises with a look of confusion which you cannot help but imagine is half-feigned. "Oh? And why would they do that?"

Does she not know? Surely, for all of her professed ignorance in military affairs, she must be aware of the reason, being as it is a chiefly politickal one. "It is custom for brigade commands to be assigned to the senior-most colonels of the army, lest a more junior officer be placed above one of greater experience," you explain. "If I am to be given a brigade, then those ahead of me in seniority may take some offence that they've been passed over."

Your sovereign doesn't so much smile as she does give you a knowing look. "Rest assured, my lord, we are well aware of that. You need fear no hostility from such men—they will be far too occupied with matters of their own brigades."

It takes half an instant for the Queen's words to make themselves understood, and half a second more for their implications to become clear: the Queen is not only giving you a brigade, but every other active service officer ahead of you in seniority as well: Lefebvre, Palliser, Jamys, Wiltshire, and Saints know who else—a dozen at least.

Just how big of an army is she planning to raise?

And how exactly does she mean to pay for it all?

[X] "How great of an army do you intend to raise?"

"As great as necessary, my lord," she replies, with an expression that means every word of it. "When our predecessor went to war with the League of Antar, he believed that victory might be achieved with an army of a certain size, provisioned for a certain period of time. He was wrong in his estimation. His attempt to keep to it brought disaster at Blogia and ensured that the final cost would be far greater than it ought to have been."

She fixes you with a look of absolute certainty. "We will not make the same error, we cannot afford to make the same error, with the unity of the realm and the security of the Crown at stake. We intend to commit ourselves fully to the restoration of order and the destruction of those who have rebelled against us—and we intend to draw upon every sinew available to us to see the matter done."

A more earnest declaration of intent you couldn't have asked for—and a more thorough refutation of the prospect of a limited, constrained conflict you couldn't have received. It's clear that the Queen is set upon victory, whatever the price.

You can only imagine at the cost which she might be willing to pay to have it.

Or how she intends to pay for it at all.

[X] "How will the Crown support the expense for so many new soldiers?"

It is an impertinent thing, to present such a quandary so bluntly to one's sovereign, doubly so to do so regarding an issue of money, but given the current circumstances, you daresay that some manner of explanation must be owed.

After all, it was the expense of maintaining the army in Antar which originated Wulfram's opposition to the Crown in the first place, a fact the Queen well enough knows. How could she countenance the expense of raising an even larger army now, with the Crown's finances in even more dire straits, and a vast portion of its revenues now in the hands of the enemy?

It's a question which ought to have given the Queen pause, or at least cause for worry. Yet her reply comes immediately, and without the faintest hint of anxiety. "It shall be paid for the same way it always has been, through the Crown's revenues."

"But surely the Crown's revenues are insufficient for such a task, especially now that they are so diminished?"

The Queen's eyebrow raises. "Are they? The Crown's revenues come primarily from the Crown's estates, and under normal circumstances, they are but a fraction of the revenues which are extracted out of the country as a whole. For every penny the Crown receives, the Lords of the Cortes collectively receive twenty from their own estates—your own estates, we should perhaps say. This has meant that the wealth of the realm has gone not to the coffers of the Crown, but to the Cortes."

You're not sure you like where this conversation is going, especially since you are one of the Cortes lords in question. "Is that situation to change, Majesty?"

"Not for you, my lord, nor for any man who has kept his faith with us," the Queen replies. "But as for those who have thrown in with Wulfram, who abandoned the oaths which they have sworn—they are traitors now, and a traitor's titles and estates are forfeit…to the Crown."

So that's how she means to pay for this war: by confiscating the estates of the lords who have turned against her—which leaves only one problem.

"Those estates may be forfeit to the Crown under law, but the vast majority are now in territory where the Crown's law will not apply for much longer," you point out. "One cannot collect revenues from land one does not control."

The Queen nods. "No, one cannot—which is why we shall rely upon men like you to take them for us."

It is fair enough an answer. You cannot say it sits well with you to imagine that the funds which are to supply your command with shot and powder and rations and pay are to be contingent upon the ability to advance into territory now held by the enemy, but you cannot say that the idea is a point of particular confusion, either. It has already become clear enough that it is success on the battlefield alone which will determine the success of the Queen's ambitions. You suppose this is only an extension of such a principle, taken to a more immediate and urgent extremity.

You're not sure whether that reassures you or not.

[X] "I've no further questions, Majesty."

"Then that leaves only one remaining matter of business."

You stop mid-breath. You were expecting to be dismissed after this. After all, the Queen already gave you word of your new command, what could she possibly have to add?

The Queen looks away for a moment, towards the paintings that adorn the walls of the Privy Council chamber. "We're well aware that many of those who now claim to be with us were not so steadfast at first," she observes, almost idly. "A great many have been inconstant, or opportunistic, watching from some safe corner whilst matters developed, whilst duty ought to have brought them to the Crown's defence. Those who did not act until they knew how matters were to conclude." She manages a brief flash of a smile, almost unsure, almost. "I do not hold such men in contempt; had I been in their place, I may well have done the same."

She has dropped the royal pronoun; you cannot say for sure why, but you know that she must have done it for a reason.

"But there have been exceptions, those who have stood firm even when the winds seemed unfavourable, even when the risks seemed high. Those who risked their reputations, their fortunes, their friendships." Her voice rises, heavy and solemn and almost reverential, but it rises all the same. "These are the men who held to their loyalties even as those who ought to have been the bravest among us faltered. Even if I cannot condemn the men who chose prudence over honour, I might still reward those whose ability and steadfast spirit in the service of the Crown ought to serve as an example to all. Thankfully, recent circumstances have given me no small number of appropriate tokens."

Only now are you entirely certain where this conversation is going. "Majesty?"

"How would you like to be Earl of Castermaine?"

It takes all of your powers of will to keep your expression neutral. Surely, the Queen is making sport of you. One does not simply hand off an earldom to a country baron like this.

You take in a breath and let it out again, long enough to restore some measure of composure. "Is this question in earnest?" you finally manage.

"It is," the Queen replies.

So this is no jest then, but a genuine offer.

In truth, you're unsure what to make of it.

On its face, it's a marvellous thing, a great honour and an immense elevation of your fortunes. You're not aware of the precise state of either the city or the Earldom it's attached to, but you have little doubt that their population—and their revenues—are many times that of your current holdings. At a stroke, you would become one of the great lords of the Unified Kingdom, with an income sufficient to become a true power in the Cortes, to raise a formidable Houseguard, to embark upon practically any sequence of civic improvements and publick works which you might possibly imagine.

Perhaps just as importantly, it would give you holdings not within the Duchy of Wulfram—something you hadn't considered to be particularly important until you found yourself on the opposite side of a civil war with the lord of that region. Now, even if Wulfram's forces appropriate or lay waste to your ancestral lands, you will still have new ones with which to fund their reconstruction.

And there's an even greater advantage still: elevation to an earldom would render you equal in rank and prestige to Countess Welles. It would mean the removal of the greatest formal obstacle to a courtship.

Indeed, given the Queen's connection to the lady in question, you almost wonder if that was her intention in the first place.

There is, of course, only one problem: namely, that Castermaine is currently the territory of the enemy, in possession of its former lord, and is likely to remain so unless it is taken away.

"Well?" the Queen asks. "I trust you accept?"

[X] "Majesty, there already is an Earl of Castermaine."

"On the contrary, my lord," the Queen replies crisply. "There is a traitor who lays false claim to that title, who needs only be evicted from the lands which are no longer his."

You suppose that's one way of putting it.

So it is only a prize half-given, with the expectation that you yourself will work for the rest, for even if you're given the title by authority of the rightful Queen, you won't see a penny of the revenues nor have any chance of winning the loyalty of its people—at least, until it is wrested from the man who still claims it. It's a promise of something greater, but only a promise.

Yet it's the promise of an opportunity that comes along only once every ten lifetimes.

Who in creation could forgive you if you didn't reach out and grasp it?

[X] "Does not the Cortes need to approve the transfer of titles?"

The Queen nods. "It does."

"The Cortes doesn't usually approve of such elevations," you reply, pointing out the obvious. "There are those who will argue that this is a blatant stratagem to increase the Crown's power by elevating those loyal to it. If I remember my history correctly, the chamber has successfully blocked elevations on such grounds before."

Your sovereign smiles, not the warm expression she expressed towards you not so long ago—but this smile is not for you either. "There were men who would have argued such things, perhaps enough of them to have otherwise constituted or organised a majority. But they're not here now, They are fled, or dead, or otherwise hiding in their estates. The Cortes will do what I demand of it, for only those who are willing to do so remain."

Her previous expression returns, serene and confident. "You will get your Earldom, my lord. I may make assurances in that regard."

But your mind is already considering the implications.

Since the very founding of the Unified Kingdom, the Cortes has always stood as the ultimate check to royal power. No sovereign, no matter how obstinate, no matter how determined, could gainsay a majority in the chamber indefinitely. True, there have been times when a King of Tierra defied the chamber, but in the end, the Cortes always had its way. For better or worse, that has been the bedrock of Tierran liberty for nearly a hundred and fifty years.

Until now.

Now, it is the Crown in the ascendant, with the chamber all but broken to its will. Now, the Unified Kingdom possesses something which it has never had in its history: an empowered monarch before a supine Cortes.

[ ] [OPINION] At last, that body of bickering fools will no longer obstruct what needs to be done.
[ ] [OPINION] We are perhaps witnessing a new age; I mean to watch it carefully.
[ ] [OPINION] I fear we may be witnessing the end of Tierran Liberty.

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [OPINION] We are perhaps witnessing a new age; I mean to watch it carefully.

You would be a fool to think that things won't change, with the Crown so empowered and the Cortes so enfeebled. Yet you would be just as foolish to imagine that change to be for good or ill, when the outlines of the future haven't even materialised before you.

Perhaps the Queen will use her power solely to do what must be done to bring order to the realm. Perhaps she'll take advantage of her position of strength to render the Crown unassailable forever-more. Yet it's just as likely that this shall only be a brief moment of change, that the Cortes may well reassert itself in the weeks and months to come.

Matters will proceed the way the Saints intend. When the new age makes its shape fully known, then you will decide what to make of it.

Yet those are thoughts for the future. Until then, you have a more immediate matter: that of your sovereign, standing patiently as you consider the powers which she has now clothed herself in.

And the title she wishes to bestow upon you.

"I shall do my utmost to be worthy of this honour, Majesty."

The Queen answers with a faint smile. "Bring us victory, that will be compensation enough."

She steps back, and her expression hardens again. Once more, you are soldier and commander, subject and sovereign. "It was not our intention to seek war, but now that Wulfram and his allies have forced it upon us, we have no choice but to prosecute it to the utmost. Only once the enemy is defeated in its entirety might order be restored. Only when those who have raised traitorous arms against us are fully brought to justice might there be peace once more. We have tried compromise, it has failed. We have tried patience, it has failed. Now we can only fight, and in this, failure has ceased to be an option."

She looks away, her gaze focused upon some point in the distance. "Now is the time of soldiers. The fate of the Unified Kingdom rests on you and those you will command. How will you bear that burden?"

[ ] [END] "With every measure of strength and courage, Majesty."
[ ] [END] "I mean to try my utmost."
[ ] [END] "Circumstances have allowed me no other choice."

 

[Rogue Attican]

[X] [END] "With every measure of strength and courage, Majesty."

"Then see to your brigade, General—and make it ready for war."

To be continued in Book IV:
WARS OF INFINITY​

And with that, we've reached the conclusion of the story so far. However, we've only scratched the surface of what the Dragoon Saga has to offer. For example, what would've happen had we chosen to desert at Blogia? What if we had chosen to stay on our estate? How might things be different had we chosen to side with Wulfram?

If you guys would like to explore the possibilities with a new Dragoon Officer, I'm all for it. If there's stuff about the Infinite Sea setting you'd like me to go into, I'd be happy to provide exposition on that too.

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