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BREAKING: BLOOD PACT WITHDRAWS FROM THE GHOLGOTH REGIONAL ALLIANCE
Via: Freekish News Network
Via: Freekish News Network
Markets in full panic as founding members of Gholgoth sever ties
ULE CITY, Automagfreek (FNN) - At 7:30 am local time, a joint statement was issued by Lord Damien Dreadfire II of the Freekish Empire and Lord Reaver Valerin Vayne of Pantera stating their intentions to withdraw their respective nations from the Gholgoth Regional Alliance.
Details are still emerging, as the full text of the declaration has not yet been made public. Anonymous sources have indicated that the split is the result of "irreconcilable differences concerning the current management of the regional alliance and a lack of faith in its future".
Markets reacted to the news with panic. Minutes after the opening bell, the regional GothEX index dropped more than 6% on the news that Automagfreek, Gholgoth's largest weapons manufacturer via state-run Freekish Industries, would be immediately ceasing all sales and suspending all contracts with Gothic nations. The news that Automagfreek would seek to further defense contracts with Pantera did nothing to stop the sell-off. Plunge protection teams were immediately put into action.
On Bredon Street, all three of the major Freekish indexes plummeted shortly after the opening bell. The Thomas Kaye Industrial Average fell 8% before trading was suspended. There is no word on when trading will resume, and it is widely anticipated that the market will tumble even lower when it does. Rumors persist of a potential bank holiday, though the Great Hall had denied such a measure will be taken.
The Seastone Palace had ordered a news blackout across Pantera.
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"Are you sure we've done the right thing, Valerin?"
There was a slight uncertainty in Damien's voice as he shared a strong drink with the Lord Reaver in the gardens of the Great Hall. The young Warlord had not the stomach to watch the news or be briefed about how their declaration was received. All that mattered now was the Blood Pact, and making sure that their people did not suffer needlessly.
"Aye. If you didn't have the balls to tell them to fuck off, then I wouldn't be standing here. There's a reason our forefathers swore an oath to one another. The Empire and the Reaver nation are rare breeds, likely the last of our kind. And Gholgoth has grown fat and soft. They say the Alliance has moved past us, but not all progress leads to pleasant results."
There was little disagreement from Damien, who sipped slowly and deliberately on a strong Freekish whiskey. His mind was running wild with thoughts and fears of what might come of this fateful decision, but not for the Alliance. For his people, and the people of Pantera who had never wavered in their brotherhood with the Empire.
"I would see to it that we look to strengthen our markets and secure new trade ties. This financial carnage could be the undoing of us if we cannot get a lid on it quickly enough."
Valerin Vayne spat. "Money comes, money goes. Let the moneychangers and pencil-pushers shit themselves. At the end of the day, our armies are strong. We could set out and conquer new lands, like the old days. Or perhaps show these so-called Goths what real reaving and raping looks like?"
The Lord Reaver had assaulted his drink as if it were water, and demanded a nearby servant refresh him.
"Indeed. We still have Lords here that have chosen to stay. Would you be opposed to another meeting?" Damien asked.
"Aye, I would. Piss on meetings, I've already made my position clear. If you want to trade words with them, you're welcome to it. I'll be returning to Toke, I'm sure the Reaver nation will be wanting an explanation."
"Are you with me, brother? To whatever end?" Damien extended his hand towards the Lord Reaver.
"That's about the dumbest question you've ever asked." Valerin clasped hands with Damien, a determined grin on his face. He departed the Great Hall shortly afterward via helicopter and began his journey back to Pantera.
The day had been long and tiresome, and as a dark sky drew closer the Warlord desired nothing more than a good night's rest. He retired to his private chamber in the Great Hall and quickly slipped into a refreshing slumber. As the midnight hour approached, Garegel and a half dozen of his fellow cultists made their way silently through the corridors, several of them carrying cases in their hands.
Vlad Shadowclaw had been hesitant to allow them entry into the Hall, but Garegel had been very convincing and seemed credible enough when recalling what he had seen in Damien's eyes at the Council Chambers. How badly Vlad wanted to believe it to be true, and he had taken a great risk by recalling the Sentinel guards from the residential wing.
"The witching hour is nearly upon us. Are you ready for this, Vlad? You're not having second thoughts, are you?" Garegel asked as they approached Damien's door.
Vlad indeed was having second thoughts, but the appropriate medical equipment on hand in case the cult master failed in his duties.
"Let's get on with it." Vlad uttered apprehensively.
Quietly they crept into the bedchamber, careful not to rouse the young Warlord from his sleep. The six cultists surrounded the bed while Garegel moved towards Dreadfire's head. Carefully he picked up one of the pillows from the bed, then looked at his accomplices and gave a nod. Together they took hold of Damien's limbs, and Garegel then pressed the pillow hard against Damien's face. He kicked and struggled violently as the pillow slowly choked the air from his lungs, and after what felt like an eternity, the Warlord twitched his last.
"There, it is done! Get that defibrillator ready just in case." Garegel instructed while checking for a pulse, of which there was none.
He checked the time on the nearby clock and watched it with extreme focus. Mere minutes before the stroke of midnight, Garegel closed his eyes and began to recite and incantation in ancient Freekish. Upon speaking the final words, he nodded to another cult member who retrieved a large syringe from one of the cases and handed it to the cult leader.
"Into this world, you are born anew!" Garegel drove the thick needle into the Warlord's chest and pressed his thumb down hard on the plunger.
Adrenaline coursed into the heart of the corpse, and anxiously the cultists looked on to see if it would be enough to revive him. Seconds passed, and then Damien Dreadfire sat up violently and roared like a wild beast. His eyes had turned a deep blood red, and as he continued to scream he thrashed about the bed uncontrollably. Vlad could not believe what he was seeing and immediately fled for the door, while the cultists fell to their knees and kowtowed to their master.
"Easy my Lord, easy. You're safe." Garegel said while placing his hand upon Damien's shoulder.
"Where am I?!?" Dreadfire barked as he clawed at his eyes. They burned and pained him as if they had not been opened for decades.
"You're back in the Great Hall where you belong. Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?" The cult leader could not hide his excitement.
"I... I was on a beach..." Damien said, though there was a great deal of confusion in his mind. "They shot me, and..."
"And you died." Garegel replied as gently as he could. "But the Gods have spared you, and your spirit has been reborn in this new body. The transition should be easy, the host was an exact clone from your original source. You should rest, my Lord, until the weariness from your merger has diminished."
With an exhausted yet determined look, Damien slid his legs over the side of the bed. He felt strange, as if stuck in a lucid dream from which he could not wake. Though his body was young and strong, he felt weak and drained of energy.
"No, I've slept long enough. Now tell me, necromancer, what has transpired in my absence?"