Chapter 24
A few weeks after the first formal meeting with the Baron and his lieutenants about rebelling against the Empire, Wolfgang was tearing through castle Bickenstadt to reach the Baron’s study. He had just received a very important report from his intelligence network, and the Baron needed to hear about it immediately.
The Baron was sitting in his study, feet up on his desk, reading the new Hans Brueckner short story ‘Sailor Gets Crabs’. In his opinion, it was one of Brueckner’s finest works. Each page filled to bursting with gut busters. The Baron took a sip from his glass and sighed, completely satisfied. He had just received a gift from Jean, Poire Lucinde, a distilled fruit brandy bottled with, fittingly, a Poire Lucinde, which translates to ‘light pear’ in Reikers.
The Baron had no idea how Jean got it without even leaving Bickenstadt, most of his Elven brandy was brought to Bickenstadt by his privateers so he should have heard about it beforehand, but he didn’t really mind. It wasn’t like he had any room to judge Jean for doing anything illegal. Suddenly, his door was kicked open, causing him to drop both his glass and book in surprise. He looked to Wolfgang, breathing heavily and quickly crossing the distance to his desk, and then to his spilled drink and dropped book.
“Father! I have something extremely important to tell you.”
The Baron knew that whatever Wolfgang had to say, it was not good. He only called him ‘father’ when something serious was going on. The Baron considered giving him grief over his spilled drink, but quickly decided against it.
“What could possibly be so important that you felt the need to run all the way to my study?”
Wolfgang composed himself for a moment, brushing the hair off his forehead and smoothing out his clothes.
“I just received a report from my intelligence network, members of the Landwerte have crossed into Bickenstadt!”
The Baron looked incredulous, picking up his glass and book and setting them back on his desk before speaking.
“I highly doubt that. Secret police forces are to stay in their home provinces, such is the precedent set by the Iron Emperor. The Empress is hardly one to go against her own father’s precedent. And plus, how do they even know they’re Landwerte? Isn’t the point that they just look like farmers? How do you know they're not just farmers?”
Wolfgang looked to the Baron like a god would look at a blasphemer.
“We both know that my network would never report something so important if they were not completely sure of it.”
The Baron put his feet back on his desk.
“I admit, your network is good, but I just find it highly unlikely the Empress would send Landwerte to Bickenstadt. I haven’t acted nearly as overtly as I would need to for her to really consider that.”
Wolfgang rubbed his forehead, exasperated.
“Fine, if you don’t trust my intelligence, take the chance of having Grossenburg goons infiltrating Bickenstadt. If you’re right, then great, but if you’re wrong, then men specialized in crushing dissent will run rampant through our beloved province.”
The Baron thought for a moment, then clicked his tongue and stood up from his seat.
“Fine, you make a good point. Lucky for us, the men are doing drills at the moment, so they’re all here. I’ll take a band of 50 swordsmen and go check it out.”
“My network told me they are most likely headed towards Bickenstadt city, so patrol the northeastern road into Bickenstadt, that is where you are most likely to find them.”
The Baron strapped on his saber and holsters, put on his helmet, and decided against putting on the rest of his armor. He needed to move out quickly and didn’t have time to strap it all on.
|
|
“Oh, I see them. Just a little over half a mile out from us. Swords out men! But do not engage until I say so!”
The Baron and his men drew their swords, the Baron resting his saber on his shoulder, and the men holding them in various different but relaxed fashion, trying to look intimidating, but not necessarily hostile.
The Baron was mounted on a horse, but the rest were on foot. The Baron’s band of 50 were all armed with kaltzbagers and heater shields, as well as morion helmets and cuirasses. As far as the Baron could tell, the group they were intercepting was 30 men, ten of them looked to be mercenaries, and twenty of them looked to be farmers. As the two parties neared each other, one of the Baron’s men sped up to walk alongside the Baron.
“Uh, Baron. Those farmers don’t look right.”
The Baron recognized the man speaking to him. His name was Elias, he and the people from his village that joined always dominated the push exercises.
“Elias? What do you mean by that?”
“Well…they…ain’t walkin’ like farmers. 'Ard to ‘splain, like they ain’t look at the ground 'nough. And I ain’t seen a single hoe between ‘em. N’even a hand shovel. Farmers don’t go 'round nowhere without a hoe or nothing to sow fields, and it ain’t the season for harvestin’ so there ain’t no reason to walk ‘round with sickles.”
The Baron looked at the farmers and noticed the only thing any of them had visibly was a sickle.
“Good catch, impressive noticing that from so far. Why do we have you on sword and shield instead of rifle?”
“I was a farmer, I’m pretty strong.”
“Fair enough. Go back in formation and spread the word. Tell the men to be ready for trouble, as it seems likely.”
Elias nodded and walked back to the line. The Baron rode ahead to flag down the group. As he approached, the mercenaries formed up in front of the farmers. When the Baron got close enough to make out the details of their faces, he stopped and addressed them.
“Stop! You are suspected of being enemies of Bickenstadt. I humbly request that you identify yourselves, or turn around and head back from where you came.”
One of the mercenaries stepped forward, a confused look on his face.
“Uh, enemies of Bickenstadt? They’re just farmers si…are you the Baron?”
“Yes, I am Baron von Bickenstadt, and I have come to chase Grossenburg goons out of my province.”
The mercenary’s face further scrunched up in confusion.
“Um, Baron, no disrespect meant, but…these are farmers.”
“Are you questioning me?”
The mercenary shook his head and raised his hands placatingly.
“No no! I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s just…well…”
The Baron waved his hand dismissively.
“Yeah yeah, they’re farmers. Have you heard of the Landwerte?”
“Um…no?”
The Baron frowned slightly, but quickly smiled and bowed his head in apology.
Ah, I guess a secret police would be pointless if it wasn’t secret.
“Are you men even from Grössenstadt?”
The mercenaries all started to look nervous as the Baron’s troops crept closer and closer. The farmers, however, didn’t look too bothered.
“Eh? Um, no? I’m from Waffenstadt.”
“Ah, there it is. Sorry to talk down to you. But, these farmers are from Grössenstadt, correct?”
One of the farmers walked past the mercenaries, standing next to the probable leader of the mercenaries.
“Yes sir, we’re from Grössenstadt. We’re coming down to claim fields in south Bickenstadt, and I think Jurgen is looking to settle in north Leibenstadt.”
“Well, sorry to say, but you all are going to have to head back to Grossenstadt. You are suspected of being agents of the Empress, and, as a sign of good will, I wish to send you home unmolested.”
The Baron’s men finally fully reached them, forming up in a line five men wide five men deep behind the Baron.
“But sir, we’re farmers. If we don't settle down quickly, we could lose our livelihoods! We are already taking a huge risk by moving across the country!”
The Baron narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t speak like a farmer.”
“Well, I grew up in Grössenburg, and I became a farmer just ten years ago.”
The Baron crossed his arms.
“Hm. A likely story.”
The farmer shook his head.
“I was a lawyer before I became a farmer. I don’t want to, but I’ll throw the book at you.”
“If you throw the book at me I will run you over.”
The farmer sighed.
“Sorry ‘bout this. According to the Imperial Book of Laws, Book Eight, subsection C, page 38, paragraph four, known colloquially as ‘The Farmers Clause’, if people wish to move across the country to farm land you are legally required to…”
As the Baron’s eyes glazed over and his brain leaked out of his ear. He noticed the other farmers had gotten much closer.
Hm, this looks like it could go quite poorly.
“...And, in addition to the Farmer’s Clause, Imperial Bylaw, Subsection Seven, Part C, known as the ‘Squatter’s Clause’, states that-”
As he was starting to feel his conscience recede into the realm of the unknown to avoid listening to more legal jargon, the Baron felt a large flicker of energy come from one of the farmers.
He looked over and saw, very faintly, a dark, blue light emanating out from under a straw hat. He was barely able to react as an icicle came flying at his head, throwing himself to the side, just barely managing to stay in his saddle. The farmers drew their sickles and charged the Baron’s men, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
The farmer’s assault took the Baron’s men by surprise, and the curved point of the sickles managed to slip right past their defenses, felling eight of them before they could properly react. As the eight poor souls collapsed with gaping wounds in their necks, the men behind them quickly stepped forwards to take their place, standing shield to shield and pushing back the farmers.
As the Baron's men swung and stabbed as a group, it quickly became obvious that each and every one of the farmers was a gifted one. Dodging, blocking, and attacking back with blinding speed and inhuman accuracy, surviving what would have easily killed anyone with less than superhuman strength, speed, and reaction time.
The sheer force of the farmers throwing themselves against the shieldwall was beginning to push it apart, though with surprisingly low loss of life on each side. The farmers were gifted ones, and obviously highly trained, but the Baron’s forces were veteran soldiers, drilled relentlessly to fight as a single block, not as individuals.
As the battle devolved into various one vs many brawls, the Baron was still struggling to get back in his saddle. He saw the glint of sun on steel out of the corner of his eye and finally swung himself back up onto his saddle, just in time to dodge a sickle that was coming for his neck.
As he sat up he drew his saber and a pistol, immediately firing point blank into the man’s face, leaving a massive crater in the front of his skull and spraying his surrounding comrades with blood and brains.
The Baron kicked his horse into action, slashing another farmer as he galloped past. He made a small amount of distance from the battle and spun around, charging his horse at the farmers attacking the line.
The farmers had felled about sixteen of the Baron’s men, and only four of their own had died in turn. However, some of those sixteen will live, and none of the four will.
One of the farmers, the one who started the whole skirmish in the first place, was engaged with four of the Baron’s men. The two of them thrust at the same time and the farmer stepped past their blades as they moved, his sickle curving around one of their shields and sticking in the man’s neck, severing the carotid artery just as his hand touched the shield of another. His eyes glowed and ice spreaded in a thick layer to the shield.
He hopped back as the other two stabbed at where he was, making a quick hand signal which caused the ice to detonate out in large chunks and spikes, knocking the swords out of their hands and either impaling or breaking their arms where the spikes hit. As the farmer got ready to dash forward and finish the fight, he heard galloping behind him and briefly turned to look at the source.
The Baron’s horse crashed into one of the farmers, sending him flying through the air, landing on his neck with a crack loud enough to be heard over the din of combat and rolling to a stop a few yards away. As the Baron continued charging he slashed another farmer about to pounce one of the Baron’s men who slipped, the enchanted saber opening him up from shoulder to spine.
The Baron slowed his horse and spun it around, slapping her backside to make her kick another farmer, sending his brains onto one of the shields of some of the Baron’s men. Another farmer raised his arm to fire off magic at the Baron, but before he could he was brought down by three of the Baron’s men, who tackled him to the ground and hacked him to pieces. The Baron nodded his head in thanks and charged off in the other direction, saber held high.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
One of the farmers, the one who first spoke with the Baron, stood over the bodies of two of the Baron’s men. As he surveyed the skirmish, he realized that attacking the Baron was a horrible idea. They had killed around 17 of his men, and injured a few more, but the soldiers had killed 12 of theirs, a proportionally much higher number. He turned to parry the strike of a soldier, his eyes glowing bright white as he thrust his open palm forward, shoving the soldier away with a massive blast of air, clicking his tongue as the soldier landed and rolled back on his feet almost immediately, taking just a few more steps back before digging into the ground and bringing himself to a stop.
The farmer tried to think of something he could do to possibly get the rest of them away, when he spotted the Baron, cutting off the arm of another one of the farmers.
There! The Baron!
He pulled on his wind magic to amplify his voice, making sure the rest of his men would hear his orders to injure the Baron, when suddenly he felt the ground rumble.
The Baron felt a small impact on the side of his head. He turned to see the source and saw one of the farmers throwing rocks.
Not even magically enhanced? What a fucking disgrace.
The Baron ground his teeth in frustration at this blatant show of disrespect.
They attack and kill my men, and they don’t even have the decency to be good at it! Have these God forsaken clowns really only hunted civilians in their lives!?
He could feel himself getting unreasonably heated, and he could feel an energy rising up from his core. He seethed through his teeth, gripping his saber harder and harder until it began to hurt his hand.
“That’s it! This ends NOW!”
The Baron reared up his horse, his eyes glowing dark green, and made the horse stomp down, causing the ground to rumble far more than a single horse could cause. As the horse stomped, the Baron felt his hands, arms, and legs become noticeably colder, almost painfully so, and it felt as though the horse became colder as well. Less than a second later, great spikes of earth rose from the ground, impaling five of the remaining seven farmers.
Most of them died instantly, the spikes ripping through their bodies with extreme force, and the others were quickly dispatched by the Baron’s men.
I knew I could do magic, but I just couldn’t remember how to do it. Guess that means I’m back to full strength?
The remaining two farmers, who were standing off to the side, immediately threw down their sickles. One of them was tackled by four of the Baron’s men, who raised their swords to cut him down. Just as they reached the apex of their swing, they heard hoofbeats behind them.
“Stop! I want them alive.”
The soldiers almost immediately acted, quickly sheathing their swords and tying him up with a length of rope the men insisted they take with them. The other farmer willingly allowed himself to be tied up and they were both marched in front of the Baron and pushed to their knees. The Baron’s expression was ice cold, and there was a lingering pale green glow in his eye.
“So. I believe you can drop the pretense of being farmers now. Weren’t that good at it anyways. You two are Landwerte, as were the rest of your dead comrades.”
The Baron hopped down from his horse and crouched down in front of them, leaning on his saber.
“Now, answer my questions, and I’ll allow you to go back to the Empress and deliver a message for me. So, why did the Empress send you to infiltrate Bickenstadt? Doesn’t she have her spymaster to watch my movements? It was my understanding that you two were separate groups, and you only operate in Grössenstadt.”
The Baron’s voice was ice cold, and it sent a shiver down the spines of everyone around, including the Baron’s men. Both of the Landwerte looked down at their feet, unwilling to answer. The Baron put his saber near one of their hands, touching the tip to their pinky finger, and a single bead of blood pooled up around it.
“Ordinarily, I am a very patient man.”
The Baron gestured to the dead littering the clearing.
“But when I look into the soulless eyes of my men, killed for no reason just outside their home, on their day off no less, well, I tend to get a bit temperamental.”
He stabbed down on the farmer’s pinky, severing it at the first knuckle. The man bowed down in pain, barely managing to not scream. The Baron shrugged.
“I can take more if you’re unwilling to talk.”
The farmer who’s pinky wasn’t cut spoke up as soon as his comrade’s muffled moans slowed down.
“She…she wanted us to confirm what Brusilov had told her. It seems that her trust in him is waning a bit.”
The Baron looked over to him, smiling and patting the pinkyless farmer’s shoulder.
“See? Your pain was completely avoidable.”
The Baron stood up, letting his saber drag across the chest of the farmer, leaving a small trail of gore on his chest.
“As was the rest of this fucking mess.”
The Baron jabbed the tip into his shoulder, with less than an inch of penetration. To his credit, the farmer didn’t even flinch. The Baron looked at the wound and smiled his best funny old man smile.
“Oh, sorry. Sword’s enchanted.”
He raise his saber and flicked the blade with his offhand, which made a high pitched ding!
“Supernaturally sharp and durable, that’s liable to happen if I’m not paying attention.”
The Baron laughed his jolly old man laugh and put the saber in his sheath, patting it as he spoke.
“I am becoming quite forgetful in my old age. I really ought to be more careful with this thing!”
The Baron scruffed his chin in thought.
“Or not. Hmm, well, you kind of answered the only question I had. I suppose…I should keep my word?”
The Baron shrugged.
“Eh, might as well. Stand 'em up.”
The Baron’s men stood them up, and the Baron addressed one of them, the one who he didn’t cut up, who happened to be the one who first spoke.
“Tell the Empress I am willing to forget this little kerfuffle if she fulfills two conditions. One: Cover the costs of compensating the families of 21 men, which would total to about, say, 2,150 Reiksgeld in all, and Two: Issue a formal apology to me, and to the families of the 21 dead. If she refuses to fulfill those two conditions, I will martial the men-and rightfully so, this action goes against current precedent! Make sure to tell her my terms. Now, go. Get the hell out of my province.”
The Baron’s men reluctantly released the two Landwerte, roughly shoving them in the direction they came from. One of his men came over to the Baron, a very unpleasant look on his face.
“Baron, he killed my brother, Elias. The one who’s pinky you cut.”
The Baron’s face scrunched up, like he had just taken a bite out of something sour. He had just spoken to Elias. He seemed to be a nice, upstanding, straightforward young man. His loss would likely be felt by all the young men who signed alongside him, as well as those in his unit. The Baron rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb, thinking about what to do. After a moment, he shrugged.
“Hmm...eh fuck it.”
The Baron drew a pistol and cocked the hammer, handing it to the young man.
“Might as well try and avenge your brother! The man had good eyes, let's hope that's a familial trait. You’ve got one shot. Front sight aligned with back sight for an accurate shot.”
The young man nodded his head solemnly and took the gun, aiming it at the man who killed his brother, shakily attempting to follow the Baron's advice. He had only shot a gun a handful of times, and he heard that pistols were less accurate than muskets. A voice came from behind, which startled the man.
“Hey, Baron, are we free to go?”
BANG! The farmer fell, a bullet audibly punching through his back, and the unharmed one broke out in a dead sprint, swiftly disapearing into the less dense forest edge of the Dunkwald. A cheer rose through the Baron’s remaining men and he chuckled like a jolly old man watching his grand children win at a carnival game. The Baron retrieved and pistol and turned to address whoever spoke to him, the mercenaries 'protecting' the farmers.
“Ah, apologies, I thought you already did. You may leave if you want. Or, you could join us. We just lost sixteen men, and eight more will be out of commission for a while. We need to replace them. You would be the first men not from Bickenstadt to join, and you would need to move any family you have to here, as well as yourself, but you would get to join the prestigious Klarwasser Mercenary Company. Oh, we also have great pay and benefits.”
A voice rang out from the group of the Baron’s men.
“Don’t forget to tell him about the drilling!”
The Baron smiled and laughed heartily.
“Oh yeah, and we conduct drills five times a week for eight months out of the year when we’re not on campaign. That is the reason we are some of the most disciplined mercenaries in the world, as well as why I generally hire from within Bickenstadt.”
The mercenaries looked at each other, slightly bewildered, and then turned back to the Baron. The man who was their leader, or just the most willing to speak for them, spoke up.
“I believe most of us will have to pass on your offer, but some of us without families might be willing to come.”
Four of the ten men stepped forward and kneeled in front of the Baron.
“I assume that means you four are willing to join us. If you would like, you may go home first and settle any business you have there before you move to Bickenstadt city.”
Three of the men thanked the Baron and moved back to their comrades. One remained kneeled.
“I take that to mean you will be coming with us immediately. Come on then, I have paperwork to do, and I trust my men to teach you properly.”
|
|
|
|
The Empress was livid. As she listened to her Landwerte give the Baron’s terms, her foot tapped faster and faster.
“...and he says if you refuse to fulfill those terms, he will wage war against you.”
The Empress slammed her fist into her throne, causing the Landwerte to cower in fear. She turned to a servant, barely containing her rage.
“Fetch me the chest that arrived today. Now.”
The servant bowed and quickly left the room, returning with a small chest soon after.
“Give it to my Landwerte.”
He did as was he was asked and quickly backed away, trying to make himself as small as possible. The Empress turned her icy gaze to the cowering Landwerte in front of her.
“Open it. Now.”
The Landwerte did as was asked and quickly recoiled away from it. Everyone in the room, with the exception of the Empress and Brusilov, covered their noses as a horrible stench permeated through the room.
“State the contents of the box. Now.”
The Landwerte’s hands shook as he spoke, sweating dripping off of his face and into the box.
“It, uh, it…it’s a box full of…hands.”
The Empress balled her fist in rage. She tried to keep her voice as flat as possible, but her rage seeped into every syllable.
“It is not just a box of hands. It is a box full of the severed hands of ninteen of my Landwerte. It came with a missive, as well. Would you be interested in learning the contents of said missive?”
The Landwerte bowed deeper, head reaching the floor as the Empress unfolded the letter and held it up in front of her face.
“Heard your farmers are short handed. To demonstrate my loyalty and opinion of you, I have gifted you some.”
The Empress tilted the letter out of the way and stared at the cowering man. He could physically feel her gaze crushing him, his chest was tight, his chest heaving hard, and his stomach on the cusp of unleashing its contents on over the floor.
“With love, from Bickenstadt.”
She crumpled the letter in her hands, throwing it at the Landwerte. It bounced off of him and rolled to a stop at the feet of her throne. She ground her teeth in frustration, physically shaking with rage. After building up her rage for a moment, she exploded at the Landwerte.
“Why would you engage the Baron in combat?! Your orders were to lay low!"
She scoffed angrily and counted to two on her fingers as she yelled, the sound of her hand hitting her fingers audible through the room.
"You had no armor, and you were armed only with a sickle!"
The Empress stole a glance at her hand, held in a claw, muscles visibly tensing, quaking with rage.
"Why would you attack the man you were sent to SPY on! Justify your actions to me NOW before I rip you apart with my bare hands and offer the meat to Alaric!”
The Landwerte spoke, quietly, and without raising his head.
“We thought we could take them. We had an ice mage as well as I, a wind mage. We were all gifted ones, and they were not, with the exception of the Baron. We thought our odds were good.”
The Empress ground her teeth in frustration, angrily rubbing her forehead in exasperation, as if his idocy was giving her a headache.
“What made you think that a band of twenty unarmored men with farming instruments could defeat a band of fifty armored men from the most prolific mercenary company in the Empire, who just so happened to be led by the gods damned Baron von Bickenstadt him, the most prolific warrior from the Empire in THREE! CENTURIES!”
The Landwerte groveled harder, if such a thing was even possible.
“We…we…we wanted to-”
The Empress cut him off, swinging her arm hard enough to be audible, and he silently prayed that the gods would turn him into a pile of goo before the Empress did. They would most likely make it less painful.
“Because of your little miscalculation, I now owe the Baron two thousand one hundred and fifty Reiksgeld, and have to publicly apologize to not just the Baron, but the families of TWENTY! SEVEN! PEASANTS!”
The Empress slammed her fist to punctuate her point, breaking off a chunk of the armrest on her throne. She looked to the piece of her broken throne clattering across the floor and quickly composed herself, burying her head in her hands.
“I should have you killed, fed to dogs or something horrible like that, I really should…but, gifted ones are hard to find and expensive to train, and he keeps poaching my talent.”
She raised her head out of her hands, dragging it across her face hard enough to create a wave of white moving in the red, and gave the Landwerte a cold, hard stare, which scared him far more than any of her angry outbursts.
“You are dismissed. If I ever see you again, I will split your head like a melon and serve it at a feast.”
The Landwerte almost slipped many times as he desperately scrambled out of the throne room. The Empress stood up from her throne and addressed her finance minister.
“Send two thousand five hundred Reiksgeld to Bickenstadt, hopefully the overpayment will make him shut his smarmy mouth.”
She made a shooing motion at Brusilov and left for her personal study.
“Give the Baron something that sounds like me. And make it sound genuine! Gods above, I need a drink. Someone give me something strong! And domestic! None of the swill from the Orkney those idiot aristocrats are so fond of!”
A servant bowed his head and ran off. The Empress yelled again as he was running out, tugging at her collar and undoing the top button to allow her to breathe better.
“And bring me that gardener! You'll know him when you see him! That blonde noble’s son from Solriket!”
She looked up at the ceiling, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath before undoing two more buttons and gesturing for the servants remaining to leave. She felt her lip and realized that at some point she bit it so hard she drew blood. She looked at the blood on her thumb and chuckled.
“Never thought I’d get so angry over a man.”
She burst out cackling and sat back in a luxurious chair in front of a table with a large mirror in the center and various supplies on either side.
“He’s got to go…Brusilov too..."
She scowled hard then returned her face to neutral as she began to apply primer to her eyelids.
"Why am I surrounded by incompetent morons?”
She grabbed a pallet of of Königliche Purpurtöne, her favorite pallet filled mostly with gorgeous deep purples. She covered a brush in a neutral purple shade and began to apply it to her top eyelids. After creating a solid foundation for her work, she picked a darker purple to shade towards her nose, starting at around the midpoint of her eyebrow. She then chose a lighter shade and a finer brush, tapering the eyeshadow down to a sharp point in the opposite direction, creating a winged gradiant of deep purples. She did the same to her other eye then finished by filling in the lower eyelids.
She smiled and dipped a brush into her favorite lipstick, Pflaume Lila. After applying it to her lips she looked at herself in the mirror, smiling at her handywork. She turned in her chair and crossed one leg other the other, watching her door.
After a small wait it opened, and in came a blonde man wearing black dress pants and a white poet's shirt. Around his waist was a brown belt and a golden round buckel with a single rune etched into it, the Rune of Hearth and Home, a strong protection rune which rendered his clothing bulletproof, and kept it clean at all times. He was a very beautiful man, tall, somewhat feminine, with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.
He smiled at the Empress.
"You called?"
The Empress smiled genuienly, a very rare occurance for her.
"After having a box of hands brought to me at five in the morning..."
She chuckled.
"...we have much to discuss."