Vidi cuncta quæ fiunt sub sole, et ecce; universa vanitas, et afflictium spiritus
I have seen all that is done under the sun, and behold:
All is emptiness and affliction of the spirit
It had been many years since the black and crimson standard of the Freekish Empire flew above the Great Hall.
Ever since the near total destruction of the Dreadfire bloodline so many ages ago, the massive flag pole sat naked, and it had become a de-facto symbol of national mourning. Damien Dreadfire was the heart and soul of the Empire, for he had elevated a young nation that was struggling to find its place in the world into a global superpower, feared and hated by many. But not only was the Supreme Warlord the lifeblood of the Empire, he was the patriarch of the Gholgoth Regional Alliance. Once a mere conglomeration of landmasses that hardly ever interacted with each other, he poured his very essence into forging an indomitable powerhouse that would go down in world history books as once of the most fierce and formidable alliances ever created. It was his grand vision to bring those who called the Gholgoth region home together under a single banner, though each member would be equal to the next, with no one member lording over another.
But everything had changed when Damien was slain on the battlefields of Milograd, and the rest of his family killed through a variety of causes. The Gothic Alliance soon floundered, though other Lords attempted to keep it held together as valiantly as they could through both diplomacy and strength of arms alike. The Empire turned inwards and became isolationist, focusing not on grand conquests that had made it famous but instead attempting to keep its vast network of colonies in line after the demise of the Supreme Warlord. It was no easy task, and gradually the Empire's role as the guiding wind of the Alliance faded until few even remembered the name of Automagfreek. What transpired outside the boundaries of the Empire was of little concern to the Freekish people anymore.
But one Dreadfire had survived, a grandson born to his daughter Silvia who bore his name as a symbol of honor and hope. Damien Dreadfire II would never know his family, instead relying on what Imperial historians had recorded over the many decades. Growing up was lonely for the young Supreme Warlord, and the Empire was held together by various Warchiefs until he was of age to assume power. But that day had come and gone with little fanfare, and the nation continued to stumble forward blindly with no real sense of itself anymore. Bleak times indeed.
It was a cold and dreary day when the young Damien stood on the once famous balcony at the Great Hall which overlooked the now dead and decayed gardens below, their once green majesty now faded and decomposed. As his thoughts drifted to and fro and his gaze fell upon the skyline of ULE City, he was drawn to the large structure in the distance that was the Gothic Council Chambers. It had been many years since the hallowed halls were sealed permanently, but something inside him urged him to come. It was as if the former seat of Gothic power was calling to him, enticing him to leave the Great Hall and come towards it. Minutes felt like hours as he stared in a trance like state at the Council Chambers, until he could no longer resist their allure. He suddenly broke loose from his fixation and started quickly down the stairs, his various servants and bodyguards looking at each other in confusion, for Damien rarely left the grounds of the Great Hall.
My Lord, is everything alright?
His Chief of Staff and retired Warchief Vlad Shadowclaw moved quickly to try and catch up to Damien as he threw open the large oak doors of the Great Hall and started down the dirty marble steps.
I'm not sure, my thoughts are not my own. Something calls to me, and I cannot ignore it. I must go to the Chambers at once.
Vlad tried to dissuade Damien, placing his hand of the young Warlord's chest and moving in front of him to block his path.
My Lord, I think it would be best if you returned to your study, there is nothing of interest for you there. That place has been sealed for many years, so many that I cannot even recall the number myself.
Damien looked down at Vlad's hand and then slowly locked eyes with the once formidable Warchief, his gaze intense and full of determination. It was a look Vlad had not seen from his young master, and a burning intensity that he had not felt in decades. With little further protest, the two loaded up into an armored SUV and proceeded to the former Gothic Council Chambers. The ride was relatively brief, and before long the pair had disembarked the vehicle and made their way to the grand entrance to the derelict structure. The colossal stone statues that adorned either side of the massive doors were mere shadows of their former selves, with years of filth and neglect polluting their once proud and glorious facades. Damien glanced up at them, effigies of proud ancient Gothic warriors, and paid his respects before ordering Vlad to unseal the doors. The steel and wooden behemoths croaked and groaned their disapproval as the rusted hinges gave way, freeing the stagnant air inside from its prison. There was no electricity to the entire building, so Vlad ignited a torch that he had brought with him and motioned Damien forward as he took the lead.
It was like a scene from a dream. Thick layers of dust and cobwebs blanketed every surface of the once vibrant Chambers, and the corridors themselves radiated both pride and sadness. This place was once full of life and hosted the most powerful rulers on the planet, and as he approached the Inner Sanctum, Damien paused to collect his thoughts. Every urge inside him compelled him to continue forward, but he could not help but mourn a little even though he had never set foot inside of the Council Chambers. This was the house his grandfather built, and this would be a melancholy homecoming.
Through these doors lies the Inner Sanctum. This is where the Gothic Lords met and controlled the fate of billions of people. This is the crowning achievement of your grandfather, and he would be proud to see you walk these halls... though he would have given anything for it to have been under better circumstances. Are you ready?
With a slow but confident nod, Damien gave his approval and the doors to the Sanctum were opened. Sitting prominently in the center of the room was the famous round table, still adorned with chairs, computer screens, phones, and nameplates. As Vlad gave light to the various sconces that decorated the room, Damien made his way around the table. The names of Lords both present and past drew his immediate attention, and one by one he read them in his head and continued on until he found the one he was looking for.
Damien Dreadfire
Supreme Warlord of The New Gothic Empire of Automagfreek
His grandfather sat here. The young Damien stood transfixed as torchlight danced across the stone walls, Vlad finally making his way to his master's side after holstering the torch in a nearby sconce.
This was to be your birthright, my Lord. But in the absence of the Empire from Gholgoth's affairs, the Lords moved on without us. They have established a new seat of regional power, and we are shamed because of it. To be quite frank, we as a people have never recovered from the loss of House Dreadfire. Whether you loved him or hated him, your grandfather ushered in an era of unprecedented economic and military growth and prosperity. We were the envy of Gholgoth. Many wanted to emulate our success, but with the loss of our guiding light, they moved on.
Damien was drawn to his grandfather's seat, but hesitation kept him standing.
I don't know how I could ever hold a candle to Azrael, to Vladius, to Damien... I think often of abdicating the throne and turning the Empire over to the people, because I don't think they would ever follow me the way they followed those men...
Vlad exhaled deeply.
Lord Damien... how do I say this... He paused and pursed his lips momentarily, his mind attempted to navigate a minefield of uncomfortable truths and shocking secrets. You are here on this earth by the grace of the Gods. They have a plan for you, and if they truly wanted House Dreadfire scrubbed from the planet, you would not be here. There are things... things that...
Vlad stopped himself, his face tightening as he exhaled again deeply through his nose.
What, Vlad, what? I have spent my whole life in the shadow of men who came before me. I don't want any of this, it was never my destiny to be a leader.
Vlad had grown frustrated with young Damien's attitude and lack of purpose.
It was only a matter of time before you would find out the truth, and alas the day has come. I have waited many years for this, and I feared bringing you here. But something summoned you here, so it is only right that you know the truth.
He removed a picture of the elder Damien Dreadfire from his pocket, a picture that few alive had ever seen.
This has been locked in a secure place for a very long time. It is your grandfather when he was a young man, at the Sentinel manufacturing facility. "Manufacture" is a crude word, but the first generation of Sentinels were cloned, and your grandfather was the very first clone. You've seen plenty of historical pictures, so answer me this: if Damien was the first Sentinel, then how come none of the billions of Sentinels that proceeded him looked like him? They were all shorter and of a slightly lesser build, and their faces looked entire different. Think of it...
A few moments passed and Damien's mind raced as he processed the revelations he was being told.
That's because Damien came from a different stock from the rest of the Sentinels... he was manufactured... engineered... created from nothing. The High Priests say that he was an abomination, for no such being made from an unnatural creation could possibly have a soul like the rest of us. There were many rumors that his body was a conduit, an empty vessel that could be possessed by beings that have no place in the world of the living.
He paused and wiped the dust from the computer screen in front of him, the black smooth surface reflecting the faces of both men.
Look at the picture, and look at yourself.
Damien peered at his reflection and at the picture, before he ran his hand over his hair and drew it away from his face. The two were nearly identical. Damien's mouth dropped open, and he gasped ever so slightly in disbelief.
You ARE him, Damien. You were not your mother Silvia's child, she was merely a surrogate. You were created by your grandfather and kept as an insurance policy against his death. For what other purposes, I can only speculate. Perhaps if indeed he was an empty vessel, maybe he thought that his spirit could enter a new body upon his death. Who knows for certain, but you are who you are... but you are also him. And as you grow older the similarities with continue to show until we can no longer hide the truth. If it weren't for that hair of yours, hell, you would be the spitting image of him.
The whole revelation was difficult to process, but finally he had the answers he was looking for. Damien glanced at the chair of his grandfather, and after running his hand across the dust covered leather back, he slowly sat. The torchlight flickered ominously as a chill began to fill the room. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, slow breath as Vlad looked on eagerly. For the first time in his life, the world felt right. After minutes passed and he accepted the truths he had been told, Damien drew a small but razor sharp knife from his belt, and began to run it over his dry scalp. Blood and hair began to litter the floor as the young Warlord uttered an ominous command to his subordinate...
Hoist the colors.
Vlad bowed respectfully and started for the door at a hurried pace, leaving Damien alone in the Council Chambers with nothing but his thoughts. He was not sure if what Vlad told him was true. Was he Damien Dreadfire reincarnated, or was he just a clone destined to carry on the legacy of House Dreadfire? Was it all a lie, merely serving to motivate a young leader who had no sense of purpose? These questions would be answered in time, but everything inside the young Damien told him that for the first time in his life, he was on the right path.
Back at the Great Hall, Vlad rushed frantically to the armory and retrieved the giant Freekish flag that once flew atop the Great Hall. Curious staff and guards looked on and at each other in disbelief and excitement as he then made his way upstairs, and before reaching the top be turned around and looked at the small crowed that had gathered behind him at the foot of the steps. A half smile formed on his face as he gave them a quick nod, then he continued on towards the roof. Could this really be happening?
From outside, the large floodlights on top of the roof of the Great Hall sprang to life, and soon the entire city would come to a halt as all eyes witnessed the massive standard being raised once more. It would be a message that would spread like wildfire across the Empire, and the entire Gothic continent. It was a message that was sure to not go unnoticed.
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OOC: I've been out of the game for many years, and I haven't written anything in a long time. Not my best work, but as I get back into the swing of things I will improve. Cheers, and enjoy.