Isaac stepped out of the passenger side of car, his black leather Guchiani shoes crunching on the dying leaves that littered the pavement. Isaac licked his lips. It was fall, when the days became hauntingly gray and the wind gnawed on his flesh like a rabid wolf. The air smelt crisp and cold, a scent that burned the back of the throat as one walked down the street. If a person stayed out long enough they would become aware of the faint aroma of burning leaves.
Despite being midday, it was quite gloomy. The darkening clouds and the wailing gusts, like air raid sirens, warned of the heavy snow that would soon be unleashed on the city like million of tiny bombs. He silently reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled cigarette, his very last one, its paper yellowing with age. He placed the cigarette onto his lips before taking out his lighter. He placed his hand to cover the golden plated lighter, without it the harsh gale would easily consume the delicate flame. The soft glow of the gentle flame warmed his cheek before finally igniting the paper.
He had arrived at the Winter Palace, its cold grey exterior that seemingly materialized from the bleak grey of the clouds and the unadorned walls gave it a depressing feel. Isaac leaned into his cane as he started his slow walk towards the Palace. His slow pace gave him ample time to examine the Garden of the Strong, which he found to be in quite disturbing shape. The evergreens, despite being so hardy had died away leaving the garden empty of all plant life. Even the stubborn weeds and lichen had met their demise at the hands of whatever force stalked the garden. The marble statues of heroes and past Emperors that had eternally stood over the gardens with strong and powerful postures, now looked worn and ill. He had paused for a moment to examine a particularly disturbing crack that cut through the smile of Emperor Alfred when the wind suddenly increased, causing him to lose his cigarette.
The cold chill now pursued him, relentlessly tugging at his garments with a deathly grip. Isaac picked up his pace now not bothering to even study the toppled head of an ancient Emperor. All that stood of the once great greenery was dead and gone, its end had apparently gone unnoticed by the servants and maintenance staff.
His entrance was granted into the Palace by two silent, empty-eyed guards, who pulled the doors open for his arrival. A great blast of hot air embraced Isaac in its breast before it turned to beat back the cold chill, forcing it back to its continued siege of the Palace. Isaac now gratefully removed his coat, leaving it in a great pile of jackets and winter garments. Apparently the others had arrived before him, however he did not hear any sound except for the cold wind attempting another assault on the Palace. Climbing the stairs he became aware of the light laughter and hushed voices. It took him a few more minutes but finally he had arrived at the Banquet Hall. Before him lay great tables that stretched across the hall filled with people. All of the people were ministers of government who sat in front of an abandoned stage. It seemed as if the previous occupants had left in great haste, as camera gear was thrown all about. Only the necessary camera pointed precisely at the pulpit looked as if it had been prepared. The Ministers, almost two hundred of them, were seated but remained respectively quiet, that is all except for the Table of High Ministers whose jovial laughs echoed alone in the hall.
Isaac smiled as he limped the short distance over to the lively table and seated himself. To Isaac’s right was the High Minister of War, Ryan Walder, a short, stout man with stubby features, who was currently banging the table fanatically with his fist as he recited how he had devised the Tsunami Strategy, which had been used to great effect in the current colonization spree, and how he was worthy of some sort of reward. Of course he stopped mid-rant when he realized that Isaac had arrived and quickly apologized for the noise. To Isaac’s left sat the attractive, quick-witted High Minister of Agriculture Courtney Day, who gave Isaac a smile before turning to High Minister of Interior Samantha Carthy.
“And what took you so long, Grand Inquisitor?,” asked High Minister of Special Labor Maximillion Kaine, lifting his head up from the bejeweled cane on which it rested. In one swift movement his elbows lifted from his knees and his hands, which had lain intercrossed in his lap, now separated to grab the cane, preventing it from falling. He looked like a predator, scars cutting across his face and a black patch where his eye had once existed showed him to be a man who was fond of fighting.
“I had to finish up the approval of some two thousand odd executions. Apparently my staff didn’t tell me the Emperor had caught a Balkov village and so the paperwork was waiting on my desk,” Isaac smiled, leaving his own cane to lean against the side of his chair.
The table hushed down as the news of the Balkov village had caught everyone’s attention. In fact the whole room now seemed intent on listening to Isaac and Maximillion’s conversation.
“I did hear about them. It’s a pity they just didn’t surrender. They could have been forwarded over to me and I would get the pleasure of adding some furor to slave markets. G-d knows how slow they’ve been,” Maximillion said with a sharp sigh at the end.
“Oh yes, what did the last Balkov sell for?” Isaac said looking towards the roof for an answer.
“I believe it was for 30 million in Grand Golden Standard. She was quite a beauty. I think I might be able to talk the Emperor into moving the women and children into my control,” Maximillion said with grin.
“Well I do believe I could post-pone their executions for a time,” Isaac said with a nod.
“It does take concern that we had not found this village earlier. You said over two thousand. That does not bode well,” Maximillion slowly turned his head towards the Minister of War.
“High Minister Walder. Why was this village not extinguished earlier?” Maximillion said, his voice dripping in indignation. “I was not aware that it was Grand Commander Luciferus’s job to find Balkov survivors.”
“Well…um...High Minister, New Orderia…is just freshly conquered…and umm well I am sorry, I will have my staff and the local garrisons…scour the lands for the remnants of Balkov and make intense searches of the area a top pr-,” High Minister Walder said scrambling for an answer at his failure.
“Nigh, it matters not,” High Minister of Council David Lieberman interrupted, as he entered the hall from some winding passage. “We will bring in UAV’s and search for any permanent settlement. The people to our west are all of the nomadic kind, it will not be difficult to differentiate between the Balkov and the nomads. We will then proceed to fire bomb the settlement and send those disgusting Hadii troopers to rout out all survivors. Sell the women and kill the men. Our only concern is that the populations to our west stay as isolated and scattered as possible. Should the Balkovs have fled and united over there, they could be building an army and we wouldn’t even know. I would like to remind everyone that we remain awfully vulnerable as we lack any significant forts past the 3rd parallel. We should make an endeavor to conduct more reconnaissance missions and to build up at least light defenses. In the future, I would like High Minister Walder, to know that if we spot another village of that size anywhere near our borders, it shall be him that is sold in the slave market.”
“It is so good that you could join us David,” Isaac said leaning forward and tilting his head to peer around the curvaceous body of High Minister Day.
“So then everyone has arrived,” David commented, scanning the table, “except for his Majesty and that creature that stalks over him?” David said his gaze having stopped at the three empty chairs next to him. He took his seat in the plainest looking chair before glancing to his right. The chair closest to him was highly decorated and was the only seat in the entire hall that had cushions. The other chair was also decorated with the engravings and symbols related to the Death Guard.
“Watch your tongue, insolent one, or someone might have to cut it out,” a gruff voice answered, causing everyone to turn to the two red circles that stood out amongst the shadows surrounding it. The Death Guard walked forward before taking his seat, the two red eyes staring down everyone at the table. The whole room began to heat with tension as more Death Guard entered into the hall and took their positions, backs to the wall.
It was only moments later before the single distinct sound of boots echoing erupted from the silent room. It ended abruptly as the young face arrived at the entrance bearing a wild smile that reached from ear to ear. Everyone in the Hall stood up simultaneously and shouted “All Hail the Emperor.” In unison, their right arm stretched from its position across to a roman salute with their hand in a fist, reminiscent of the Nazi Salute.
The Emperor nodded and with it the entire assembly returned to their seats as the Emperor moved to the front of the stage. He removed the ancient robe and crumpling it like a used tissue he threw it to a waiting Death Guard who scrambled to catch the expensive thing.
"Those Brewdomian sons of bitchs are going down," the Emperor said before walking off stage, amidst the thousands of clapping hands.
Three days later the Ralkovian embassy delivered a declaration of war to the Brewdomian government after burning all its documents.
