Eternal
If you were younger perhaps you’d go on to try to conquer the world, but that’s a task for other more energetic leaders than yourself. You’ve had your battles and won your victories, now it’s time for your hard earned rest.
However you fully intend on going out the same way you lived and you call Gemma and all your closest staff to assemble in the throne room. You dress in your old Empire gear and ignore the constant pain as you slowly walk to meet them there. When you arrive, they’re all at attention and respectful as usual. You look them all over and sit down on your throne to rest before you go through with what you have planned.
“My loyal staff and soldiers, the time has come for me to realize that I may no longer be in fit condition to properly lead you all anymore. I believe I have done a good job all these years, but a good leader also knows when his or her time is possibly at an end.”
Your staff and some of the guards look a little surprised by your remark. They would probably verbally disagree with you, but they’ve grown accustomed to know when to speak and now is not the time.
“I’m not just getting old, I’m a shell of my former self, I have been for quite some time. However there was still work that needed to be done, so I persevered through the pain and the stress to achieve my goal. And that has been accomplished, the Nalin Empire is now a worthy successor to the old Empire.”
You take a long pause and stand up again. The ache of this action alone makes you glad you won’t have to go through it anymore soon. You slowly step towards your staff and address them.
“I may no longer be fit to lead…but then again maybe I am. There is still battle lust that rages in these old bones. I will not just step down and live out some sort of feeble existence where I am only trotted out during celebrations or when advice is needed. I won’t be some ancient relic to be handled with sympathy or awe. No, if my reign is truly meant to end today then it shall be by combat. General Gemma draw your weapon.” You say and draw your sword.
“Sir, I…”
“I SAID DRAW YOUR WEAPON OR I’LL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!” you demand.
General Gemma draws her weapon and steps forward. You stand back and position yourself into your fighting stance.
“Alright now the rest of you listen, if the good general here kills me, you follow her. If not, then you still follow me. It’s pretty easy. And as for you, defend yourself!” you shout and attack.
Your swords clash and the battle commences. At first Cynthia seems to only be on the defense, as if she’s unwilling to harm you, let alone kill you. You can see it in her eyes that this isn’t a battle she wants to fight, not so much due to fear, but due to respect. Part of you understands her reluctance and you appreciate it, so you figure you need to push her a bit.
“What’s the matter? Can’t beat an old man? Then again you’re no spring chicken yourself, perhaps I should’ve chosen a younger successor.”
It’s not the cruelest thing you’ve ever said, but it does the job. Cynthia begins to go on the offensive.
Pain wracks your body with every sword swing, but even with your battered body and slower reflexes you’re still proving to be a match for Cynthia. She’s not an unskilled warrior, she wouldn’t be in her position if she was, but even with a few more taunts you’re getting the impression she’s still holding back…either that or you’re still that good.
Perhaps it’s a combination of both, because Cynthia leaves herself wide open for a killing blow that you could easily take advantage of. You don’t think she even did it intentionally; she’s just so upset at having to fight you that her head is not completely in the fight. Of course that’s never really ever been a problem for you even during the worst of conditions, and there were some bad ones.
You realize that you’ll probably win this fight and you weren’t really expecting to. You nearly laugh at the absurdity that you may very well have to kill half your staff before one of them is able to take your position through combat, and that’ll only be because you’d be so tired by that point. If you were even ten years younger you could probably kill them all.
But that isn’t your goal today. You goal was to go out in one last battle and if that means you’re going to have to “help” events along then so be it. You don’t take advantage of the opening, but you do leave one for Cynthia. One that she can’t ignore, though there is a split second of hesitation…
Then you feel the sharp blade rip past your flesh and into your upper chest. A couple of ribs break from the force and your heart is sliced open as it passes by it and out the other side of your back.
You stop to look down and see the blade slowly being withdrawn from your body and covered in your blood. It won’t be long now and you feel death already beginning to take you. You see Cynthia convey a troubled expression on her face and look away as your body falls to the floor. Everyone else looks on in stunned silence.
Coughing up blood and bleeding out all over the floor, the last thing you hear even with your near deafness is a quiet “I’m sorry.” and feel the touch of a hand.
Then you feel nothing else ever again.
Your funeral is a large event, with lots of military honors and grand speeches about your accomplishments. You are placed in a fancy tomb with an impressive statue nearby. It’s a fitting funeral.
The memory of you exists for quite some time, but as time does with all things, eventually it wears away. Successor after successor become less capable of holding together what you have built. Nothing lasts forever.
Civil wars, invasions, in fighting and countless other factors play apart in the eventual complete dissolution of the Nalin Empire as an entity three hundred years later and a new dark age begins once again.
Still, every once in awhile various savage tribes stumble upon your weathered broken statues when scavenging through the various ruins that dot the landscape. They don’t know your name, they don’t know what you did, they know nothing of what you accomplished or where you came from. Yet the dominating stance and the determined look on the face still convey the idea that a great warrior once called these lands his own.
It is hardly surprising that eventually one of these savages found inspiration in these statues to forge her own empire.
Such is the cycle of things.
However you fully intend on going out the same way you lived and you call Gemma and all your closest staff to assemble in the throne room. You dress in your old Empire gear and ignore the constant pain as you slowly walk to meet them there. When you arrive, they’re all at attention and respectful as usual. You look them all over and sit down on your throne to rest before you go through with what you have planned.
“My loyal staff and soldiers, the time has come for me to realize that I may no longer be in fit condition to properly lead you all anymore. I believe I have done a good job all these years, but a good leader also knows when his or her time is possibly at an end.”
Your staff and some of the guards look a little surprised by your remark. They would probably verbally disagree with you, but they’ve grown accustomed to know when to speak and now is not the time.
“I’m not just getting old, I’m a shell of my former self, I have been for quite some time. However there was still work that needed to be done, so I persevered through the pain and the stress to achieve my goal. And that has been accomplished, the Nalin Empire is now a worthy successor to the old Empire.”
You take a long pause and stand up again. The ache of this action alone makes you glad you won’t have to go through it anymore soon. You slowly step towards your staff and address them.
“I may no longer be fit to lead…but then again maybe I am. There is still battle lust that rages in these old bones. I will not just step down and live out some sort of feeble existence where I am only trotted out during celebrations or when advice is needed. I won’t be some ancient relic to be handled with sympathy or awe. No, if my reign is truly meant to end today then it shall be by combat. General Gemma draw your weapon.” You say and draw your sword.
“Sir, I…”
“I SAID DRAW YOUR WEAPON OR I’LL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!” you demand.
General Gemma draws her weapon and steps forward. You stand back and position yourself into your fighting stance.
“Alright now the rest of you listen, if the good general here kills me, you follow her. If not, then you still follow me. It’s pretty easy. And as for you, defend yourself!” you shout and attack.
Your swords clash and the battle commences. At first Cynthia seems to only be on the defense, as if she’s unwilling to harm you, let alone kill you. You can see it in her eyes that this isn’t a battle she wants to fight, not so much due to fear, but due to respect. Part of you understands her reluctance and you appreciate it, so you figure you need to push her a bit.
“What’s the matter? Can’t beat an old man? Then again you’re no spring chicken yourself, perhaps I should’ve chosen a younger successor.”
It’s not the cruelest thing you’ve ever said, but it does the job. Cynthia begins to go on the offensive.
Pain wracks your body with every sword swing, but even with your battered body and slower reflexes you’re still proving to be a match for Cynthia. She’s not an unskilled warrior, she wouldn’t be in her position if she was, but even with a few more taunts you’re getting the impression she’s still holding back…either that or you’re still that good.
Perhaps it’s a combination of both, because Cynthia leaves herself wide open for a killing blow that you could easily take advantage of. You don’t think she even did it intentionally; she’s just so upset at having to fight you that her head is not completely in the fight. Of course that’s never really ever been a problem for you even during the worst of conditions, and there were some bad ones.
You realize that you’ll probably win this fight and you weren’t really expecting to. You nearly laugh at the absurdity that you may very well have to kill half your staff before one of them is able to take your position through combat, and that’ll only be because you’d be so tired by that point. If you were even ten years younger you could probably kill them all.
But that isn’t your goal today. You goal was to go out in one last battle and if that means you’re going to have to “help” events along then so be it. You don’t take advantage of the opening, but you do leave one for Cynthia. One that she can’t ignore, though there is a split second of hesitation…
Then you feel the sharp blade rip past your flesh and into your upper chest. A couple of ribs break from the force and your heart is sliced open as it passes by it and out the other side of your back.
You stop to look down and see the blade slowly being withdrawn from your body and covered in your blood. It won’t be long now and you feel death already beginning to take you. You see Cynthia convey a troubled expression on her face and look away as your body falls to the floor. Everyone else looks on in stunned silence.
Coughing up blood and bleeding out all over the floor, the last thing you hear even with your near deafness is a quiet “I’m sorry.” and feel the touch of a hand.
Then you feel nothing else ever again.
Your funeral is a large event, with lots of military honors and grand speeches about your accomplishments. You are placed in a fancy tomb with an impressive statue nearby. It’s a fitting funeral.
The memory of you exists for quite some time, but as time does with all things, eventually it wears away. Successor after successor become less capable of holding together what you have built. Nothing lasts forever.
Civil wars, invasions, in fighting and countless other factors play apart in the eventual complete dissolution of the Nalin Empire as an entity three hundred years later and a new dark age begins once again.
Still, every once in awhile various savage tribes stumble upon your weathered broken statues when scavenging through the various ruins that dot the landscape. They don’t know your name, they don’t know what you did, they know nothing of what you accomplished or where you came from. Yet the dominating stance and the determined look on the face still convey the idea that a great warrior once called these lands his own.
It is hardly surprising that eventually one of these savages found inspiration in these statues to forge her own empire.
Such is the cycle of things.
