This is Redemption [IC (M-PMT/FanT Open)]

[LOVE DOG]

MATURE

There is only madness in the world. Uncleanness that runs wild across the surface of the world. In the end there is only one option in dealing with the world; let it burn. Embrace the Madness and stand back to watch the pretty flames burn all of those within its path. None shall be safe from the flames. And from the ashes a world would arise. A clean world. A new beginning. But for that to become the future, one must break a few eggs. One must bring order to the chaos. One must force the world upon another path. One must root out the wicked apples of the world and take their heads. But whom would risk their lives for this God-forsaken ball of dirt called the Earth?

For those whom were tuned into Dominion News Network, they would see whom would step up to the plate and take the swing. On the evening program 'An Eye on the Dominion with Deacon Frost', which appears nightly seven days of the week, the world would get a peek at what was to come. A small part to the puzzle that would change the world. As the theme music for 'An Eye on the Dominion' played, the camera zoomed in on the youthful face of a brown haired man with light green eyes. Dressed in a black three piece suit and a yellow tie. When he smiled, white fangs as white as snow showed themselves. Everything about this man screamed out that he was of the elite of the world.

“Good evening and welcome to 'An Eye on the Dominion'. I am your host, Deacon Frost.” said the man, Deacon Frost. “We have a big show for you tonight. A special guest whom wants to address not only the Dominion, but to address the world. To bring some light to some of his actions of late.”

”Now, please welcome to the show,” said Deacon rising from hi chair behind his brown desk. “The Man, the Myth, the Legend. You know him as His Royal Badass, His Royal Alpha. The one and only Caesar Jason Scotus Lupus. The Count of Transylvania.”

And he entered from the darkness of the back stage, light fog floating around his booted feet. Dressed in a long black leather duster over a blood red vest with gold buttons, the in-studio crowd rose to their feet and created an uproar as for many this was the first time that Caesar Jason has made a public appearance like this. And it had been a long time since he had appeared on 'An Eye on the Dominion'. And with his hair trim to its normal medium length and tucked under his trademark black cowboy hat, the crowd only grew wilder as Caesar Jason moved through the fog across the stage to his chair on the other side of Deacon's desk. He smiled at the crowd, his fangs equally white as snow, before he took his seat. Both men waited until the uproar quieted down before either one even started to say anything.

”Well, it has been a long time since you have grace this stage, Caesar.” started Deacon, his voice a little shaking as this close to Caesar Jason he could feel the power oozing of the Sovereign of the United Dominion. Something was up, but Deacon didn't really know the true reason why the Count was here tonight. “The last time you were here was to announce something great and grand for the Dominion. The founding of the Royal Houses of the nations that make up on the United Dominion.”

“I did, ye, I did. And tonight will be no different.” said Caesar Jason, letting a little blood lust bled into his lifeless gray eyes. “Tonight I bring another announcement. One that should change the world. Wake up those whom are nothing but mindless sheep.”

“But first, I know you want to do your things, so I'll give you the floor.” said Caesar Jason.

“Thank you, Caesar Jason.” started the host taking a deep breath before he got started. “Let's get started then with the whole 'I come, I slay, I take, Beware!' message to the world. Some within the Dominion have said it them, that message told them that the old Caesar Jason has come back.”

“That message, my dear man, is there to wake the world up as myself have woken up in a chaotic world. A world that fear nothings and runs unchecked by the greats of this world.” started Caesar Jason. “Let's take what happened in that feared region of Gholgoth during the time the world said that the United Dominion slumbered.”

“Gholgoth, feared by all and like the Dominion herself have slumbered when they were needed. But back to meat of it all, what I was talking about is the chaotic behavior within the region of elites.” Caesar Jason paused to stare at the cameras. “The new life of the Kraven Corporation as they torn a path of death and havoc across Gholgoth. The death of a nation, once a dear brother to the Dominion, Milograd fell to the horde of Kraven. As did a leader, one Lord Damian Dreadfire, whom fell to a horde he once destroyed. Gholgoth has the power to change the flow of this world, but the infighting and what has followed have taken that power.”

”So, Deacon, my message to the world is a warning that a change is coming.” A wicked smile came across his lips as he lends closer to the camera. “A change is coming no matter if the world wants it or not. Let's call it a so-called 'Redemption.'”

“So I'll ask you this then, Caesar Jason. Does this 'Redemption' start with the death of a town? Yes, I'm talking about Banrockburn left in ruins by your command.” said Deacon.

“Banrockburn is the start. It is an example to the world that even the Dominion Herself has chaos within Her borders. You see, what Banrockburn truly was nothing but a den of scum.” started Caesar Jason with another wicked smile. “Snakes within the garden that is the United Dominion. The sweet town of Banrockburn was a home to what harms the nature of the Dominion. A new fascist order took root within that town. An order that did harm to what is mine and those whom I claim as mine.”

“So Banrockburn did as its namesake and burned. And still burns.” said the Count.

“Well thank you for that new information on that matter.” said Deacon, whom was getting uneasier by everything going on. “This brings me to something else, another message that come out of Nocturnalya via the mouth of Nero Octavianus, once thought to be lost and now found.”

“Yes, I know what he said, dear boy, for I am the one whom told him to declare it to the world.” started the Count. “For it is past time that the world should take note that the Dominion has awoken from Her slumber to tear into the flow of this world once again. For too long the Dominion has sat by and let the world go unchecked.”

“So I'll quote the words of the Prince...” started Deacon looking at some blue cards in his hands. “'Know this for what is the Dominion's, is the Dominion's and what is not the Dominion's, shall be ours.' Does that mean the goals of the Dominion are to take over the world?”

“Yes and no and the part of the reason I have come to your show to address not only the Dominion, but the world too.” said the Count. “If I may have the floor, my dear man, it is time for the world to know the truth.”

“The floor is yours, my Caesar.” said Deacon knowing full well he couldn't have stopped Jason from doing anything.

Caesar Jason rose form his chair adjusting his clothes before stepping away from the desk of Deacon Frost. Away from the host to take away what ever power the host held on his viewers. For at this time and space, his viewers weren't his anymore. All eyes focus on the being that is Caesar Jason Scotus Lupus and what he was about to say. Of what truth was to come.

“I want everybody to heard what is to come with open ears and an open mind. Don't take anything that I'm about to say as nothing but me fueling my own ego.” started Caesar Jason with a friendly smile. “And yes, I am known for my ego. The world knows that. Anyways, back to the meat of this all. Back on track. And to do that, I'll say one word.”

“Conglomerate.”

“There once was an entity of that name that once wielded the power to bring order or chaos into the world. An entity that forced the elements of disorder into the path of righteousness. An entity that was once feared and loved at the same.” said Caesar Jason, taking a pause and breath for what was to come. “The Conglomerate. A brotherhood like Gholgoth. A brotherhood where brothers and sister that backed each other. That when the time came laid down their lives for one another.”

“But like the Roman Empire and even the likes of Gholgoth, infighting between the brother and sister caused the downfall. Childish behavior is how the actions of the brothers and sisters looked to the world.” said Caesar Jason, his anger slowing rising up from the depths of his soul. “In the end, the children didn't heel the warnings of the founding four. Three of those four turned their backs upon their creation and watched the fall from power of the alliance that was no more a brotherhood.”

“But some of you are saying this 'What of the Conglomerates whom came after the fall?'” started Caesar Jason. “Disgraces. Mimics. Imposters. Even if some of versions of the Cong held members of the original Conglomerate. Even one version of the Conglomerate held the Kraven Corporation and do I really need to repeat their actions. And like the original, those imposters fell to the wayside.”

”When the world needed a shining bright star, the Conglomerate was no more. Which brings me to another of these powerful entities that had the power to change the flow of the world.” said the Count. ”Also one word, too.”

“Brimstone.”

”Yes, that Brimstone Pact, the Treaty of St. Freeksburg that once forced the world to sit down and behave like good little children. That monkey wrench that came in the wake of the original Conglomerate and the imposters that followed. A Pact that understood where the world was heading and like a rampaging bull, lowered its head and charged headfirst into whatever came the world harm.”

“Like the death of Lord Damian Dreadfire, Brimstone and the power it held fell to the wayside.”

“The Conglomerate. The Brimstone Pact. Even entities like Apollyon, Incursus, and the Brotherhood of the Wolf. And the list could go on and on.” said Caesar Jason. “All entities that could and should have changed this world. That should have created order for the havoc and chaos created by the unwise. The unrighteous. The lost souls.”

“It is time for the elite to arise once again and bring some order to this world. To check the ones whom create havoc. To laid waste to the unrighteous ones. To bring Redemption to the world.” Caesar Jason paused and stared back at Deacon Frost. “And I'll bring this full circle and back to Banrockburn. To the reasons that town burned. Deacon, you know what I am talking about, right?”

“Our dear and beloved Deacon Frost...” said Caesar as he turned back to the camera. “Has lead a double life. And this other life has lead me to appear on this show. A life that he will soon pay for the crimes caused. Those crimes are against the Dominion and everything She stands for. Those crimes are against me.”

Deacon rose from his chair and moved. Being of the race of the bat, the man moved faster than a human, but it didn't matter for the Count came prepared. In a blur, Deacon was pin to his own desk by the hand of a Fallen. The white haired man known as the Madness in his shirtless and bare feet self. But the Madness wasn't the only Fallen whom appeared. The Reaper. Legion. And red armored beast known as Warmonger came out of the shadows of the back stage. As did soldiers in black Transylvanian Body Armor Series ONE,, MOD VI with ghostly gray tribal marking and bearing the tribal wolf head of the Royal House of Wolf. Their firearms trained on the crew and the house crowd. And if somebody dropped a pin in this very room, right now it was so quiet that one would heard the pin hit.

“You're going to want to watch this.” Said Caesar Jason grabbing the end of the camera and pulling it back to the action at hand. The Madness dragging Deacon Frost to the center of the stage, all cameras focusing on him as Warmonger and the Reaper each take a hold of a wrist. The vampire host of 'An Eye on the Dominion' had no hope in escape for the Fallen, the Hands of Caesar, knew no mercy. The Madness slowly unwound the silver whip wrapped around his waist as one of the armored soldiers torn the jacket and shirt off the back of Deacon. The Madness took up his position and waited. Waited for the command to tear flesh off of a guilty man.

“Let the Dominion and the world know that on this very day, justice is hereby delivered. For Deacon Frost will get his Redemption in the true death, but for his crimes there will be only pain. Lots and lots of pain.” said Caesar Jason with a wink. “That once sweet little town of Banrockburn is the crime of Deacon Frost. But you ask how? How could a face of the Dominion want to mess with the head of the Dominion? Because greed maybe, we will never know and truthfully...”

“I...”

”Don't...”

“Care!”

“Reports and files found within the town link back to Deacon Frost and his wealth. He funded this new fascist order that actions have done damaged to myself, the Dominion, and the world.” said Caesar Jason.

“The Madness, you are free to deliver righteous justice upon the guilty.”

The whip snap and torn into the naked flesh. Deacon cried out and out as the silver whip tasted his flesh. There is only pain for Deacon Frost and his punishment was being viewed on live television. For the whole of the United Dominion to see and the world to witness the horror that was the mind of Caesar Jason Scotus Lupus in his old self. May God have mercy on the Earth.

“You see that...” said the Count forcing the camera at the action. “That is punishment. That is the world. Deacon Frost is one of the unclean. One of the unrighteous ones. He is lost! Unchecked in his own ways.”

“It is time for a change!” forcing the camera lens into his face. His gray eyes fully turned to blood red. Full in the blood lust. “I come, I slay, I take, Beware!”

“You, the world, didn't heed my warnings. So know that you could have changed the outcome. You, the world, are to be blamed for what is to come.” said Caesar Jason stepping back form the lens. His eyes focused once again on the action at hand. The Madness stopped his whipping when the Count stepped over behind Deacon Frost. As Caesar Jason stood behind Deacon, he looked back at the camera. “You, the world, will be punished like this man. You, the world, will all burn in the righteous flames of Redemption.”

“But know this you, the world, for I, the one and only Caesar Jason Scotus Lupus, am issuing a call to those that are like-minded to join together as one.” said Caesar as his ran his right across the bloody back of Frost. “A call like those of the past. A call like the Conglomerate. A call like Brimstone. I'll cleanse this place of wickedness and I'll need those whom believe this world is doomed. This is my call. I invite you into the fold, my dear brothers and sisters. Join me and embrace the Redemption!”

Caesar Jason walked once more to the camera and placed his right hand covered in the blood of Frost on the lens. The sounds of the whipping filled the air once again as the right hand left the lens. Leaving a bloody hand print behind, casting Caesar Jason and the action in an eerily red shadow.

“This...”

“Is...”

”Redemption!”

Those watching at home would only see the image on their screens faded into a still image. The image of Redemption, a dark blood red ram with white tribal accents. And the background noise of gunfire. The message was delivered. The invite issued. Leaving the world to figure out the next move.

[New Azura]

---

Praeclarus, the Summer Estate of the Vicar, Phaedra Baelfire
The River Cahill, Wolf Laurel, Estica Prefecture — Wednesday, June 17^th, 2015 CE

There was an ominous clap of thunder off in the distance, reverberating through the valley as an anxious foreboding of some hitherto-unseen storm. It's approach was a melancholy reminder of the unsettled atmosphere around the Evenguard; flashes of lighting, the tremors of thunderclaps, the hoarseness of the blackened sky as it prepared to unleash a maelstrom upon the unwitting and the weak. It was but the foretoken to a trial of forbearance: a tribulation sent from the Almighty to test the mettle of the hardy, and weed out the weak from the precipice of the great and noble struggle that was glorious existence. Only those worthy in the eyes of God were permitted to endure the otherwise-unendurable, breathing in the verisimilitude of valor that permeated the air about the titans, the grandeur of man himself in all his divine splendor.

Tempest Crichton wasn't an ideologue in the traditional sense of the word; her philosophical musings were constrained by the limitations of her present station in the administration of His Eminence the Vicar. Yet walking through the halls of Praeclarus, taking in the grandeur of it all; it was impossible not to feel the rush of adrenaline and the poignant recollections of a generation past, when pride still held fast in the Azur Court. Even now, standing by the entrance to the foyer to the Vicar's personal quarters, she stood intoxicated by the marble busts of the great Azur heroes of the faith, the warriors, the statesmen, the immortals. The Valley of Embers was aglow with fleeting rays of sunlight that beat through the approaching storm front, casting deep shadows in the gray pallor of the open corridor to the outside. It was an ethereal, picturesque scene.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Tempest."

Crichton spun on her heels, recognizing the voice even before laying eyes on the gruff man. The long corridor, open to the outside verandah overlooking the valley below was being whipped by a rising gale, but it seemed to pay Ryker Steele, Phaedra's chief military consultant no mind. Brigadier General Steele was as unflappable as a rock, and almost as handsome: his short, stocky build more closely resembled a spark plug than it did anything. Brazen to the point of conceit, Steele was more than capable of backing up fiery rhetoric with action. Some had accused him of compensating for his otherwise-diminutive frame, but Tempest had a far more simplistic explanation: he was an asshole. A well-meaning asshole, but an asshole nonetheless. His compatriots in the Ministry of War had taken to calling him 'Rowdy', a sobriquet that had found considerable usage by Phaedra.

"Likewise, Brigadier, likewise."

The adjutant strolled casually in her direction, feigning indifference in the great hall, but almost-assuredly chafing a bit under the collar. Though Baelfire's political views had evolved somewhat from his earlier... indiscretions and predilections, Ryker made no bones about his chauvinistic capacity. Though not an overt misogynist, he held little respect for women in positions of power without first having them prove their strength of character and, more appropriately, their countenance. Any woman who wanted a modicum of respect from Rowdy had to have the self-respect—and the fortitude—to stand up to him. In Tempest's case, the only way to have him stop making cracks about the contours of her hips and her heart-shaped ass was to drink the old bastard under the table. The miserable hangover was worth putting the curmudgeon in his rightful place.

Give him his due; he's done more for the military than most at his station.

Tempest sighed inwardly, wanting desperately to shake her head. That much was true, at least; the Brigadier General had gone to great lengths to reorganize the military's central command around General Consensus after 2007, quietly purging those who might pose a threat to the establishment of Calixte at the bequest of the former-Ezra Curzon. Now that Lord Curzon had ascended to the Throne of Tsyion himself, Steele's work became invaluable to him, making the old bastard an indispensable part of his privy counsel. The way he wore his old uniform—a design style that had been discontinued in 2009—made it clear however that, as progressive as he could be with respect to altering the paradigm of the Continental Army, he wasn't about to let the old ways die out completely. His cropped hair and perpetual grimace was a throwback to a different era.

Crichton joined him in his cadence, moving along side as Rowdy trudged towards the Vicar's study. "Was your staffer able to bring you up to speed on the situation? You're of no use to use if you're in the dark here."

"I have detailed files," Tempest confessed, resisting the urge to make a smartass remark in her defense. "I spent the evening going through a detailed dossier of Caesar and all previous connections to the Evenguard."

The Brigadier General nodded slowly, his mind processing undisclosed thoughts. "You're on point for this one, Crichton. Phaedra asked for your anyhow; I'm only here in an advisory capacity at the invitation of Curzon's second."

"You know he hates it when people call him by his birth name."

"When I stand before Phaedra," Rowdy confessed, "I'll give a shit. Until then, he's still Ezra Curzon to me—I broke into the military with him straight out of the Academy. We all knew he was of royal blood, but no one predicted he'd be running the whole fucking show one day. We would have been a Hell of a lot nicer to him."

"Since when the Hell do you care about being 'nice', old bastard?" Tempest questioned him quizzically.

"You can't leach patronage off someone who wants you dead," Rowdy corrected her. "I would gladly shovel shit for someone I knew could scratch my back later on. A good soldier always keeps all options over; the ends will always justify the means."

Tempest filed the random bit of trivia away for future reference, almost embarrassed by the blunt admission of complicity in ass-kissing. She figured it was somehow justifiable in Steele's worldview, yet for some reason it still struck her as odd. Ryker Steele was not of the mold of man (or woman) that came across as a brown-nosing toady. An opportunist to the last, certainly, but certainly no kiss-up. Perhaps it was a faulty assumption to make; after all, she didn't really know the Brigadier General all that well. Still, it was a perplexing admonition of the upright man, the very man that Steele admired above all else. It would be helpful to remember the token later on, in the event of a 'rainy day'; for now though, she let the vestige slip as they approached the heavy wooden doors that opened to the Vicar's study, the door partially cocked open.

"You ready?" General Steele asked quietly.

Tempest nodded succinctly. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The Brigadier General returned her nod, slowly pushing the heavy doors inward towards the study, taking the lead upon entering. Tempest stepped in behind him, immediately awestruck by the size of the quasi-library—she'd never been allowed access to this part of Praeclarus before. The room was tiered, with a wrap-around bookcase full of volumes dominating the second level. A vast, ornate fireplace was crackling, producing an unfathomable warmth to her left along the southern wall; the seasonal warmth of the mountains around Wolf Laurel was already flowing in through the open windows that ran the length of the western wall, opening out onto the balcony adjacent to the one that lined the foyer. The Vicar was not immediately present to greet them in the study, but the room was most-decidedly occupied, and it quickly drew her attention towards the right.

Oh, good grief, really?

The Vicar's study was unique, in that it doubled as a sort-of 'half-bedroom' in the event that Phaedra decided not to make the oh-so-long trek back to his private quarters. Said bed was occupied on this particular occasion, but not by the Vicar. The man and the woman lying there were in full undress, writhing against one another in the most intimate of engagements; from their expressions and... guttural emanations, it seemed as though they didn't care overly much who knew their pleasured embrace. Phaedra was on the balcony, his back turned to them; a glean of perspiration shining from his exposed torso and a glass of his favorite spirit, Des L'éclairage 1922 sitting on the granite balcony railing. Tempest wasn't about to make a guess as to what the Vicar had use of from a couple sleeping together in his bed; for the moment, she really didn't want to know.

"Forgive the scenery," Baelfire lauded without inflection, staring off towards the far-western horizon with his arms behind his back. "I couldn't bring myself to change the ambiance; I pray you understand, Tempest."

"Nothing that I haven't seen before," Crichton said coolly, still staring incredulously at the couple for a moment before turning back towards the Vicar. "I must say though, I was a bit surprised that you sent for me, sire. Normally—"

"You are here at my bequest, and that is enough. Don't question, just do."

Baelfire finally turned towards the two, the perpetual scowl ever-present across his mild features. Tempest was preparing an apology, but the Brigadier General managed to steer the conversation back on point. "What does Phaedra require of us?"

There was no hesitation in his response. "Phaedra requires your undivided attention."

Baelfire stepped past the duo, carefully taking hold of his port before casually strolling towards the far end of the portico overlooking the falls that domineered the backdrop to the northwest wing of Praeclarus. Taking hold of his undershirt as he passed by a strategically-placed chair, he carefully slid it on over his head as he walked, somehow managing not to disturb his beverage in the same fluid motion. Tempest kept a few paces between herself and General Steele, who more closely followed Phaedra. Baelfire's countenance suggested that he was a bit perturbed by something, though it wasn't immediately clear what had him frustrated. Once they reached the far-end of the deck, he slowly eased himself onto a stone bench cut from river rocks imported from the valley below. He quickly finished his drink in one motion before speaking again.

"Please, don't insult my intelligence," he chided them. "I chose you two—among others—for a reason. Your superiors asked you to prepare a file on the United Dominion; why else would I have need to call you here to unexpectedly?"

"Yes, of course sire," Rowdy addressed firmly. "We have prepared a file on 'His Royal Badass', Jason Scotus Lupus for your perusal, along with a dossier on our current knowledge of the Dominion—"

"I know of Caesar; I know of him well, actually," Baelfire bluntly criticized. "I did not obtain this position through ignorance, contrary to pervasive belief. I want to know what he has up his sleeve, and whether I should be worried... or intrigued."

The Brigadier General silently shook his head, prompting Tempest to come to his rescue now. "The United Dominion has never shown any overt aggression towards the Evenguard. Though our formal ties waned in the aftermath of the Conglomerate's collapse, Caesar has never given our Foreign Ministry pause before. If this declaration pertains to the Evenguard at all, it is the opinion of my office that we would not be in direct harm from them."

"Are you sure?" Baelfire asked directly, staring a hole through her.

"Well, I wouldn't take it to court just yet, but we have good circumstantial evidence."

Baelfire stared after her for a moment, then broke contact. He rose from the bench slowly, tossing his empty glass over the side of the balcony into the valley below. "There's something to be said about a man who is bold enough to include 'Royal Badass' in his styles. Caesar possesses something in abundance that our country lacks."

"Arrogance?" Ryker blurted, causing Baelfire to glare back at him.

"Conviction. Whether misguided or not, Jason does what he feels is right. There is a certain nobility to that sort of passion and drive; as a fellow leader, I admire the determination. But as a man of diverse tastes, I greatly admire the flair."

"Sire," Tempest quickly added, "if it means that much to you, I can contact the Foreign Minister and have him draft a formal communiqué to the United Dominion this evening. We have the means to contact them through our old channels—"

"No... no," Baelfire shook his head. If Caesar desires my attention, he knows how to get it. A man that eloquent need not be disturbed with petty communiqués or formal channels. He's a real man that only answers to the primal call of a kindred spirit. So as the Wolf, I shall let him hunt my attention as he would hunt prey. If he means harm to my house or my throne, then I shall meet him with every ounce of vitriol I possess. If he looks for formal parlay, then I shall entertain the notion presently. Yet my respect for him either way remains unabated."

Tempest shot a look towards the Brigadier General, who had no response for her. She turned back towards Baelfire, her voice low and diminutive: "Sire, if you mean not for us to contact the United Dominion, what would you have us do?"

"Caesar is not alone," Phaedra said boldly. "He speaks an immeasurable truth: the world has descended into a, pardon the pun, 'fiery tempest' in the absence of order. Through strength of arms can no one nation presently dictate the whims of our quiet earth. But make no mistake, there are sleeping giants waiting for the long night to conclude. And when it does, this giant shall be heard from once more across the deep."

"You mean to reverse Calixte's foreign policy," Steele said unexpectedly, his facial features changing exponentially as the realization hit him. "You mean to disown her policy of nonintervention... you mean to reinforce Pax Caerulea..."

Baelfire's face revealed nothing, but his words were crystalline. "Azura must yet rise. And I will raise her."

[LOVE DOG]

He sat upon the top of his world, his true world. The world of Greystone, his estate within the domain of the Greater Dominion Kingdom, the true heart of the United Dominion. He sat upon the highest peak on the mountain ranges to the east of his home, the massive fortress that had been updated and upgraded throughout the ages that he didn't remember the times known as Castle Von Wolf. His ancient eyes, old and wise, started at to the east and the darkness that was his home. He sat upon on the peak, his muscular chest bare to bask in the normal unhealthy rays of the Sun. But not to him, for he was the first of his kind. A walker of the day. He smiled at that thought. A walker of the day and bring of Redemption.

“So, my dear friend, this Redemption you are driving for…” started the red furred demon dressed in an all black suit known as Dark Father Kurt, his voice of the thousands, both male and female, both child and adult. Known to few as the Ageless One. And known to fewer as the First of the Fallen of Heaven. The power he once wielded like a true god, now slowly weakened by the sands of times. But the Ageless One still held more power then most. ”Have you thought of whom you really wan within its ranks?”

”Whom shall I have in the ranks, you ask?” started Caesar Jason with a smirk. ”What did I tell the world, my old friend? I want like-minded souls to fight beside me. To take the charging bull by by the horns and drive him to the ground.”

”I understand that, Jason, but I know your mind for I have opened locked doors within it. Of your past. Of your true home.” said the Ageless One. ”I see it in your heart and mind that you would really want that power beside you, but this isn't that world. This is Earth.”

”I know that, don't think I am a fool.” said the Count with a growl. ”And on this Earth there are still allies to what I have created. The creation that is the United Dominion has friends within this twisted planet.”

”Then why…” started the Ageless One, but was cut off. As much as the Count thought of himself as a puppet-master, the Ageless One was the first of that kind.

”Then why have they not come to my aid? That is what you are asking, my dear old friend, and I'll give you that reason.” started Caesar Jason, turning away from his realm and glared at the Ageless One.

”It is a test. Have you not been tested before, old friend? Oh wait, you have been tested and we both know the outcome.” said the Count with a wicked smirk. “Anyways, I am being tested for the Dominion has slept as the world around Her turned into disorder. They test me to see if I am truthfully in my goals for this world.”

“They test me the man whom behead the pope within his safe haven. They test me to be the one whom reaches out to them. Some would see weakness in that, but I see honor and glory for those whom test me are those whom are needed for the likes of Redemption.”

“Those whom test me will get my answer soon. For the likes of Redemption will need not only the wolves, but the lions and cobras. And the razorbacks of the world. The killers, my old friend.”

“And, my old dear friend, I have taken the steps myself and used your faithfully minions to deliver my message to the worthy. To the righteous ones.” said Caesar Jason. “As we speak and I rest for the upcoming storm, my message will appear on the desks of the lions of the Evenguard and the cobras of the Imperium Antiquum Kylarnatiae. To that nightmare that is the silver eyed, silver haired empire of the Jagites.”

”And there will be others whom come to the banner of Redemption. And they shall be tested, too, as I am being tested.”

The Count turned back to look at his world and the Ageless One left in a cloud of deep purple and black smoke. The heavy smell of brimstone filled the peak as Caesar Jason smiled. For the pieces were slowly getting into place.

And true to his word, those whom would be prefect for the ranks of Redemption would find a letter on their desk. A letter that just appeared for no hand of man had touched it. For it wasn't there one second and there the next. There was even a hint of the smell of brimstone and sulfur on it. And sealed with the tribal wolf head of the Caesar himself, of the Royal House of Wolf. But in that letter, the ram of Redemption started out at the reader.

We Are Redemption

I call for the faithful ones! The righteous! The believers! The warriors! The destroyers! I call upon the likes of wolves, of lions, of cobras, of grand and wise beasts that have the power to bring some order to this world.

This is your invite, my dear old friends. This is your chance to change the course of the world. To bring that order once again, that order that the likes of the Conglomerate and Brimstone once held. Bring order and destroy those whom stand in our path. This is our world, let us grant it true freedom.

Come to my home for we must plan for the coming storm. And build up Redemption to rival the likes of the Conglomerate and Brimstone. But unlike those two grand and powerful entities, Redemption shall not fall to the wayside and let the world become one with chaos.

We Are Redemption.

~ Your Friend, His Royal Badass, His Royal Alpha, Caesar Jason Scotus Lupus
Emperor of the United Dominion

[New Azura]

Praeclarus, the Summer Estate of the Vicar, Phaedra Baelfire
The River Cahill, Wolf Laurel, Estica Prefecture — Wednesday, June 23^rd, 2015 CE

The moonlight stars above Praeclarus were clear for the first time in several days, free from the gloaming storms that had ransacked the valley under the darkness of the new moon. Tempest stared at them for a moment, waiting for Phaedra to speak, biding her time until the Vicar had received his fill of the communiqué received prior from the United Dominion. There was a foul wind in the air, promising the return of the storms soon enough. For now however, there was only a silent pall hanging over the estate, clinging to the hillside with a fervent temerity, as if by right of birth the center would hold. Crichton new the truth, knew that the metaphorical storms on their collective horizon would break the center in two, and cast asunder all aspersions of normalcy in the new order. To hold any other belief was to hold one's self in denial.

"I take it you have properly vetted this communiqué and analyzed it for some deeper meaning," Phaedra said suddenly, startling the dread silence with a deep, almost guttural-sounding inflection. "That's what your people do, is it not?"

"I wouldn't insult your intelligence by repeating their findings, Eminence," Tempest said respectfully. "Not without your official approval or request to do so. I seek only to serve you to the best of my abilities."

Baelfire turned to her, his charcoal-gray tunic darkened by the shadows of the night. "What would you have me do, Tempest Crichton? Am I an immortal in your eyes, purveying over the souls of the Azur like a wayward god? Am I a servant in humbleness and meekness, sacrificing of my own that others might be fattened from the plowshares of my house?"

"You are Phaedra," Tempest said nervously, unsure of where Baelfire was heading with this conversation. "You are the Vicar."

"You're guessing; you don't know how to respond," the Vicar chided her, shaking his head as he turned back towards the valley. "I would have rather you admitted your ignorance than to pitch me a talking point like a politico."

The words were searing at her, and a divine spark was manifested. Tempest allowed a touch of anger to creep into her voice: "Then perhaps Phaedra would be so kind as to enlighten me on the proper answer? Or would he continue to speak in misguided riddles, believing me to either understand or give a damn about their meaning?"

The glare in Phaedra's eye as he turned to look at her over his shoulder was pervasive; perhaps she'd made a mistake. "Believe you me, girl, you wouldn't like the lesson I would teach you. It would resonate in you to the very last."

"Yes, sire."

"—But in this instance, you are apropos in spirit," the Vicar suddenly contended, as if he'd been cut off before finishing his previous sentence. "There shall be no more riddles, no more illusions with you. You indirectly made my point for me."

"Eminence?"

Phaedra turned towards her, his tone and countenance remarkably softened. "I am but a man, Tempest; there is nothing special about me, only my station. I cannot absolve you of your sins, nor inspire your soul unto greatness. All I have in this life are the worthless materiel trinkets of my office, and the knowledge imparted of God that I am but a vapor, here one day and gone the next. My name shall echo into eternity, but it is only an echo; the blood of my hands, the sweat of my brow, they shall fade like the beauty of the trees at the last turn of the autumn. You, Tempest, hold the illusion of grandeur and splendor over my head, projecting majesty upon the veneer of a soldier without all the answers. If you mean to keep your station, serve with me, not under me. Do I make myself clear, Tempest Crichton?"

Tempest bowed her head deeply, then looked Phaedra square in the eyes. "Aye, sire, I understand you."

Baelfire studied her retention of his truth, breathing sharply. "Caesar is a man not unlike myself; eloquently spoken, but charred at the edges from the internal Hell he has battled. Yet where he suffers the immoral world to pass with the jackboot, I suffer it in stony silence, allowing those that hunt me to come into my own, that I might slay them dead by the mantle."

Tempest slowly nodded, the realization coming to her. "The United Dominion is aggressive, boisterous, fearsome. Yet the Evenguard is cautious, watchful, vigilant. Yet both Caesar and Phaedra are hunters one in the same; they differ only in the practice." Baelfire managed to crack the sliest of smiles, pleased that his adjutant was picking up on his message.

"That's why I shall go to him, this time. I have much to learn from Caesar, and I suspect Caesar has much to learn from me. But until an endgame is rented in this new forum, I shall play his game presently. Make the arrangements for me?"

Baelfire extended the communiqué back towards her, his expression blank. "Of course, sire."

"Very well; I take my leave of you, then."

Tempest took the piece of paper from Phaedra, bowing her head deeply in deference to the Vicar; without acknowledging her, he stepped past nonchalantly, heading back into the state of perpetual isolation. His footsteps seemed overly loud on the foyer heading back into his study, and she was perplexed to feel a sudden gust of wind kick up from the valley below up over the balustrade. It was as if nature itself was giving pause to allow Phaedra his moment of solitude outside, only resurrecting its natural ebbs and flows upon his departure from her presence. Baelfire had long been a quiet, eclectic soul, governed by a set of rules that no longer seemed aesthetically valuable in a postmodern world. Yet there was none alive who could deny the gravitas of his presence, as unassuming as it may have appeared to the uninitiated. Though slight of build and diminutive compared to some of his adjutants, there was a fearsome boldness in Phaedra's eyes that betrayed his determination.

Shaking her head, Tempest quickly walked forward towards the granite railing, pulling out her smartphone from her breast pocket, feeling on top of things for the first time in several days. Though a formal communiqué could have been apropos under the circumstances, a discreet message to Caesar's government in the United Dominion was far more low key. It dawned on her at the last that Phaedra intended for the news to be kept low key, for it was the predatory instinct of a hunter not to let the prey know that something was afoul. No stones could be left unturned, no boxes left unchecked: Phaedra was foisted into the very same position as Caesar in the United Dominion was: a reactionary to a world gone mad, that which had been consumed by the very gates of Hell they'd once stood watch over. The anticipation was becoming feverish and awe-inspiring.

Tempest quickly dialed the number for her chief of staff, putting the phone up to her ear for two cycles of ringing. Then, a short clack, and the smooth, musical tone of her assistant, Alex chimed in: "Adjutant Morrisey; what's the word, Boss?"

Crichton shook her head, smiling broadly. "The word is 'go', Alex. Send the word."