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Author Topic: Thirtieth wave.  (Read 3656 times)
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Oton
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« on: August 15, 2008, 18:58:51 PM »

My dear subjects!

I am writing this letter to ask you all for your forgiveness, though I know I shall not receive it
What I have done against my people, my country and my family is unforgivable. Neither here, on this world, nor where we all go some day. People say that history is the most important judge of our deeds. And, oh, Gods, how right they are! I tried to rule the Empire with tough, but just fist. By the mercy of the Gods we were all well. Or, at least, I did my best for everyone to be well.
Until the barbarians came.
But not even then no one of you did brake. None of you said a word about a retreat, fear or fled. You all stood, fought and bled for the honor of your country and King. You all made me proud and desire to enter battle first, to die along side you. Like one of you. Even in times of great peril, when all hope had faded, you did not bend. Because you all loved me. And you all made me love you. You have nothing to regret. Nor anything to be ashamed of. Future generations will remember each one of you as a hero. Songs and stories will immortalize you. All of you.
Bot no me.
Because I betrayed you all.
All of you.
I made and arrangement with the Evil and sold my soul. I allied with the enemy, because I was promised to rule everything and everyone. I was promised... to be the Second in the Command in the whole world. I was promised... my people to be the chosen one, deciding the fates of others. I was promised treasures, glory and immortality. I was promised... a place in history. And what greater treasure there is than... your name to have a place in history?
I was promised... and I excepted. You will say - because my ambition knows no limits, my vanity and desire for power are unmeasurable... and you will not be wrong.
But I did it for you also.
And the plot was uncovered.
The shame and the humiliation came afterwards.
I can not look any of you in the eyes anymore. Nor do I have the right to call myself your King from now on.
Maybe you can forgive me... but I could not forgive myself. Ever.
Therefore... I leave this world in disgrace and in total loneliness.
This is best... for all of us.
Forgive me... if you can. Some day.


                                                                                                                                         Your Emperor


The Sovereign put the feather back into the ink pot, slightly blew the writing to dry it, then carefully folded the paper and sealed it with red wax, stamping it with his family ring.
He left the farewell letter on the edge of the table and headed for the window.
He stepped on the window border, which was the only one in the Citadel tower, said:
'Well... that does it.'
And plummeted down.
Xaoc's army arrived six hours after his crushed body got cold and his Empire seized to exist, along with all his subjects.

Thirtieth wave results:

Imperian Fortresses destroyed: 1985
Defenders' victories: 198

Nomads killed: 8088544
Imperian soldiers killed: 5607046

Oton felt the biggest difficulties with his right arm missing when he was trying to fix the armor on his body.
He was puffing over the ties of his breastplate half an hour already and his fury was beyond any previous limits. When the page offered him some help, the Butcher was very close to cut off his head and the servants and slaves preferred to go out and wisely look for other things to do.
'You will be late for the march, Butcher', the ringing female voice was filled with sarcasm, 'Then you will have to run after your army. And when you catch it up, it will probably have done the job without you. If fact - that is not that bad idea. Your troops will be way better off without you.'
Oton harshly turned and looked at the Aiarian murderous.
And the hideous voice, which he did not manage to mute no matter what he was trying... picked the right moment to remind of itself:
"She looks lot prettier now."
The Butcher shook his head and made another try to reach for the ties.
It did not work.
He took out his dagger and came close to the Blond, meeting her challenging look point blank.
He slowly closed the blade to her throat.
The former Empress did not make a move at all.
He harshly cut off the ropes on her wrists and feet. The scars were not very big. He had secretly ordered his guards to loosen them up few days ago. But not too much lose. He still did not trust her. Not enough to keep her untied until he sleeps.
'Let's see if you are taught something else than talking nonsense all day', he said and turned his back on her, his dagger still in his hand. 
The Aiarian skillfully tied up the straps and in a few minutes the Butcher found out, with satisfactory, that he hardly felt the armor on his body.
The blue-eyed did not say a word and she went to the joist, expecting to be tied up again.
On his way to the exit Oton turned to her and said:
'You will not be tied anymore. Make yourself useful and clean up the place.'
'Go slaughter more of my countrymen and do not tell me what to do, you bloody cur', the Blond was in fury.
Logged

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