Rival barons and a king whose power was failing, that was the land of Arala. Long standing, and sometimes ancient grudges sat among some of the barons, and any upstart could take advantage of that. Communities lived in fear that their barons would decide they needed more money, and towns and hamlets on the edges of the country lived disconnected from the world.
Arala’s times were changing, several riots within the capital had been put down by martial force, and in some cases when the barons' servants would go to collect their taxes they would be attacked. The king’s name was Sylvestre Talchenes, and he held onto power desperately. His power was fleeing from him, and held onto what he had left, and craved more, he almost obsessed over it.
Martial might is what chose leaders here. The more powerful you were, the more you were both respected and feared, those were kind were loved by the people, but were looked on with disdain by other lords, those who had cowardice were looked on with utter hatred by both parties. The strong survived the weak fell.
There were those who had enough of their life serving barons and kings, there were those who looked for a way to rid themselves of the unfair burdens the nobles put on them, but they knew ways of peace would accomplish nothing, and they knew they needed a leader with military experience. Many of them turned to a captain who was only still in the service of the king because he was national hero, an icon almost.
King Sylvestre knew he couldn’t get rid of him without the greatest of suspicions rising from those around him, and they far outnumbered his soldiers. The captain was a man by the name of Hawken Radarya, and many of the people who kept with the news of him knew him and the king had ended up the opposite side of many arguments, ending up having to be restrained before they bloodied each other. The Captain had challenged the King, and the king refused it, and all knew who it would end in single combat.
The lands were battle worn. Craters littered the plains and fields were people tilled fields, and mountains were scarred and damaged, the husks of tanks still sat on the plains and underneath them the bodies of knights and swordsman who had fought on the same grasslands during bloodier times. The duckboards of trenches, and those who had died in them could be discovered near cities, where great sieges had taken place.
These lands were the place of war, these lands were the place where mercy was rare, these were lands were where kings and princes had sent armies to fight each other and try to kill each other on the fields of war. The culture was that of battle and war. The people looked at war as where heroes were made; war was where the masters of combat tested one another in the field of arms.
City of Vetrua
The capital city of the Arala Fiefs sat on the rolling plains, and overlooked the tundra that covered most of the nation’s lands. It was bustling hub of trade and industry. Coils of grey smoke rose into the air, and the snow was stained with a greyish taint. This place was more the capital because of the need for trade then any symbolic meaning to the place.
The king’s palace was a massive stone mansion. Gargoyles starred out from their pedestals at the city below them, their frightening vigil, behind them armed soldiers stood in a never ending watch of the staircase they were employed to guard.
The King was standing on a balcony facing the city. His face was hard and angular. He had a well-trimmed beard, but he had kind green eyes, in almost complete contrast to his hard and almost cruel features. His grey hair was short, and it blew slightly in the light breeze that was going through the city.
There was a single man behind him, in a military uniform. “My liege, my men could not find the accursed captain in Letras.”
“You failed me again Baron Vex. This is the fourth time. Twice, against the raiders from the north, a third time, when you sided with Radarya, and now you can’t find him. How much more ill will you cause me?”
“None your Excellency, I came for more than just to tell you that I could not find.” The Tyrkan lord’s brown eyes were unwavering when Sylvestre turned around and looked at him, a mix of bewilderment and anger on his face.
“And what else would that be?”
“I renounce my allegiance to you. You are not fit to lead the people anymore, King Sylvestre Talchenes. You are a disgrace to the Aralan name. Times are changing; a monarchy is no longer fit to rule this country. Your rule is failing, and you ignore that. You ignore the people, and you ignore the fact that your soldiers are finished fighting the civilians.”
“You treasonous snake! I will have executed for this!” He heard laughing from behind the door. Captain Radarya opened the door. His face was pale, and had medium length, thick hair. His eyes were a dark green. His face oval-like, and part of his right ear was missing, clipped off by a dagger.
“My liege,” He said hissing the word liege. “I will give you three options, but this is the last time I will give you any.” The king had anger on his face, he had been betrayed, and cornered before he had known what was happening. “Step down peacefully now, agree to a duel, within the next two weeks, or if you don’t agree to any of these, we will remove you by force.”
“The terms of the duel?” The King asked, wrath boiling to the surface of his attempted calm demeanor.
“I win, you step down, and make a public announcement stating I am the leader, I will hold elections for a diplomatic house, and that will be the end of that, but if you win, you can put me on trial for whatever crime I have committed against you.”
“Treasonous beasts, traitors to the state, I agree to your damned duel, but I will choose when, and where.”
“Agreed.” Hawken replied.
“Resa Arena, three days.”
Three days past, and during that time Hawken practiced with his short sword and shield, but the king sat looking at his pistols, frantically looking for a way to end this, knowing that the duel would likely be one sided.
The Resa Arena was in the port city of Ellipse. Naval facilities were just outside of the city, and the city served as a recruitment ground for the navy. The Arena itself was a stadium that was meant for games of football, and players who have normally been practicing right now, lining up against one another, with the defense always trying to crush the person carrying the football, but today the two men stood staring at each other.
The king wore a leather vest and held a wooden practice rapier in his hands, with a wooden dagger held behind his back. The captain was shirtless, which showed off his large muscles, and scarred torso, he held a round buckler on his left hand, and a long sword in his right.
The captain was from the Aroan regions of the nation, where single combat was held in high regard, and highly trained soldiers, in small numbers were their normal soldiers, and even better trained soldiers were their elite.
The king was from the Westerice regions, where tank warfare was what was preferred. They were utter opposites in both combat doctrine and their leadership styles. Sylvestre was the embodiment of a dogmatic and uncaring leader; Hawken was a rugged, inspiring, and charismatic leader.
The king made the first move, slowly the king moved forward, sideways, always keeping his balance. Hawken waited, knowing the king would not have the discipline, or patience to wait. Sylvestre moved forward, until he came within striking distance of him, the strike was reckless and easy blocked by the captain.
The captain moved next, and his sword was barely blocked by Sylvestre’s dagger, but the king was not expecting the captain's next move. Hawken took a risk, and moved his buckler away from the rapier of his former liege, and hit the king with the small shield, driving him back, but he still had enough sense to block the Aroan’s sword. Hawken and Sylvestre crossed the arena, with many civilians watching, not knowing the stakes, although those who did knew that it was a monarchist versus a militarist.
They fought for four hours, with breaks only to drink water, most of them for the king. Sweat poured down their faces, but Sylvestre was almost finished. While they were both tired, the king was much closer to exhaustion, the younger and veteran captain was more than a match for the failing King. Strength, and an iron will conquered the weak as it had many times, and Sylvestre was knocked out, and a former leader, left to the paramedics to take care of.
Hawken, within a week had earned the love of the people. He had reduced their taxes, made a house of representatives, who he had the people nominate from each city, and vote for, to take care of most internal problems, but all knew he had control of the military, and decisions he made would support the military, and everything he did would be conservative.
The system of barons was eradicated, although everyone knew that the power of the previous nobles would still be there, although it was closely watched by Hawken. The Baron Vex was the only baron left, and he served at the captain of the guard for Hawken's new home; the palace.
A new era had begun for the nation. The age of Radarya had begun…
Present Arala
The fiefdom's influence slowly expanded from what it once was, creating ties with other countries. But there were others out there. Some not so friendly. So now Arala will fight to have their independence and keep it too...
must remedy mistake~