The world about the Protharian Empire continued on as if nothing significant had changed. There was the issue of the barbarians that had been told far and wide; the heroic battle that brave youths and soldiers fought. This story was shared between villagers, nobles, and it had even reached the perked ears of the Emperor.
“And he’s the only one that survived?” A man in his early thirties, though his fair skin made him seem far younger than he was, brushed golden hair from his eyes. “Truly amazing had there been another witness to attest to this. I’d prefer to speak to him myself at some point.”
Krona Protharian was known to be a very cautious man. Since taking the throne and the gold-gilded crown of fashioned leaves and an assortment of jewels like a rainbow, he’d strived for a greater status than that of his predecessor. In this empire, the emperor forgets the name of their father upon rising to power. Power not requiring bloodlines. He’d been a mindful boy at one time, but since he’d become a toned machine of a man.
He practiced combat quite often with his slaves—some purchased from the gladiatorial battles held in the capital after they reached glory and fame upon the sands. He studied various subjects on the art of war, strategic placements and positions, and even the demographic advantages and disadvantages that regions might be awarded. Constantly hoping to better himself, his ears were always open for the next big discussion or gossip. News of new technologies, new agricultural advancements, or even the heroic endeavors of an individual rarely died off before reaching the Emperor.
“He returned quite wounded, but he did state that the last of the barbarians fell before he began his path home.” An older man, one Gravious Tomlonen, was an advisor to the Emperor. He was a skilled alchemist and would often work tirelessly on inventions; though, innovation often births more failures than successes. Since they spent so much time in the library together, they often spoke familiarly with one another on the popular topics of current events. “The garrison and nobles are praising his name, though the losses were great.” He scratched at his bare, wrinkled chin as the white mustache above his pursed lips shot out wildly to both sides. This man in bright green robes hunched over in his chair and took another sip of his tea—watching his Emperor through eyes that could never open beyond a squint.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“He’s always been a cowardly lion; playing with the prey of the less fortunate but sprinting to his den at the first sense of trouble.” Krona leaned back on his finely crafted leather sofa that had been treated to a splendid brown—more closely to a hue of purple cast over it. Some of the local merchants used magic casters to personalize such items. This wasn’t an expense most could afford. “I’ve reluctantly continued to support him because of the children he’s produced with cousin Quincy. That, and the garrison’s apparent love for the man. Blind love is something fascinating.” He closed his eyes to enjoy the calm conversation as a cooled breeze blew through the open windows of his lounge. “I want a full report of the outcomes in the region. Casualties, salvage reports, damage reports, any possible witness accounts, and the like. I want a full update on the situation and every damn barbarian sent to the gods.”
“Of course, your majesty.” The old man shook as he bowed his head. With the Emperor’s eyes closed, the elder man opened a small vial he kept in his side pouch and emptied the contents into his own tea. “Right away.” He sipped the entirety of the glass in one gulp, exhaled loudly, and then began his process of shuffling out of the room.
Two guards were standing watch on the other side of the door to this great lounge. Once Gravious had exited, Krona lifted his head and glanced about. Such a large room filled with lifeless books, decorations, pricy amenities, paintings and busts of himself… it was all so empty. He tried to relax, but these days offered little comfort to the Emperor. He exhaled and slunk further into his couch so his wondrous robes of crimson and violets bunched up around his waist and stomach.
“I’m a king bound to his castle.” He looked toward one of the open windows that revealed the expanse of his capital. Rolling hills of stone structures, the gardens of the elven embassy, towers of the great cathedrals, and countless homes to the common man. “That damn Nodure.”