Lionel, the Lion King, sat at a table surrounded by his arrogant generals and obsequious vassals. Tiger, Jaguar, Leopards, Lynx, Cheetahs, and Cougar beastkin smiled as the Minotaur king’s head and crown were laid at the Lion King’s feet.
“We humbly beg for your forgiveness,” a Minotaur prostrated.
“Nagari, I grow so tired of this. It’s the same old thing, resistance, defeat, submission,” Lionel complained to his Naga chancellor. His golden eyes reflected a deep weariness, a weariness that came from years of unending conquest and bloodshed. “Is this all there is to rulership? Endless cycles of rebellion and subjugation?”
“I understand Your Majesty, but you must try your hardest to put up with this at least once more,” the snake man hissed. He was a sadistic man who enjoyed torturing beggars. The twisted pleasure he derived from others' suffering contrasted sharply with the lion king’s growing disillusionment.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty,” interjected a Kitsune, his eyes green with avarice. “Why not make them slaves? The construction of your new palace is delayed. These stout bovines might speed up the process. We could also sell them to the humans for a pretty silver.”
“Fine,” Lionel said nonchalantly, waving his hands.
“Wait, you can’t do this! It’s reprehensible for a beastkin to engage in slavery. You destroyed our kingdom and now plan to sell us like chattel,” the Bovain woman begged. Her voice was strained, filled with both desperation and a defiant spirit that refused to be crushed.
“You will address the king as his majesty,” declared a Tigerman, his sword pressed hard against the woman’s throat.
“Your lands? Everything in the Beast Lands belongs to him, including you!” Nagari hissed angrily. Pointing to the woman, he ordered his staff, “Sell the woman, enslave the rest.”
“Chattel cattle, how amusing,” chuckled the king, causing his retainers and vassals to laugh along. “Huh, I need a little levity. Generals, order your soldiers to move out. I have a date with my old friend Baloo.”
The Lion King’s command reverberated through the room, and the obsequious vassals hurried to execute his orders. The Minotaurs, defeated and dejected, were herded out by the Leopard and Lynx beastkin, their expressions ranging from hopeless to defiant. The Bovain woman’s eyes blazed with fierce determination, silently vowing that this would not be the end for her people.
As the Bovain woman was roughly pulled to her feet by the Tiger general, his sword still menacingly close to her throat, she glared at the tyrant, her eyes burning with a mixture of fear and anger. “This isn’t over, false king. One day, you will pay for your cruelty.”
Lionel laughed, a deep, mocking sound that echoed off the stone walls. “Bold words from a slave. Perhaps you’ll amuse your new master with such fire.” He turned his back on her, signaling the end of the conversation.
As the generals and vassals began to disperse, Nagari slithered closer to Lionel. “Your majesty, the rebellion in the Ursa Kingdom ended in defeat.”
Lionel’s face darkened. “I expected as such. The goal was not to overthrow Baloo but to destabilize Ursa. My spies tell me the capital will run out of rations in three months. My friend may be stubborn, but he won’t let the clans starve. He may have survived this coup, but if the clans band together, he knows he won’t survive.”
Nagari’s forked tongue flicked out in a pleased hiss. “Shall I prepare a contingent to deal with him?”
“Do so,” Lionel said, his eyes narrowing. “But first, let’s make sure the Minotaurs are securely in their place. I want no distractions when I deal with Baloo.”
The scene shifted to the outskirts of the city, where the Minotaurs were being shackled and chained. The construction site for Lionel’s new palace loomed ominously in the background, its incomplete towers and walls a testament to the Lion King’s ambition. The Kitsune, overseeing the operation with a greedy gleam in his eyes, barked orders to the beastkin guards.
The Bovain woman, now bound and standing apart from the rest, watched as her people were forced into labor. Her heart ached with each crack of the whip and pained grunt of her kin. As she was led away, she cast one last look at the devastated remnants of her kingdom, silently vowing to survive and one day seek justice.
Meanwhile, Lionel prepared for his meeting with Baloo. He donned his regal armor, a display of both his power and readiness for battle. As he mounted his armored rhino, surrounded by his elite guards, he felt a surge of confidence. Soon his friend too would be dealt with, and the Beast Lands would finally be unified under his iron paw.
The convoy moved out, leaving the castle grounds and heading towards the dense forests where Baloo’s rebel forces were rumored to be hiding. The journey was fraught with tension, every rustle in the trees potentially signaling an ambush. Lionel’s mind wandered to the many campaigns he had led, and the countless lives lost in his pursuit of dominance. He could feel his dream coming to fruition.
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As they reached the edge of the forest, Lionel raised his hand, signaling a halt. The air was thick with anticipation, the forest eerily silent. Lionel dismounted, his eyes scanning the shadows. “King Ursa!” he called out, his voice resonating through the trees. “Old friend, come out and welcome your king!”
A moment of silence followed before the capital gate opened and Bearkin rode out and bowed before the Lion King.
“Has your king brought terms of surrender?” Lionel asked.
“Your majesty, my king bids you welcome to Ursa. He requests you join him for tea and terms,” the emissary repeated.
“The insolence!” yelled the Tiger general. “Tell your chief to kneel before the Beast King.”
“Anthony, that’s enough. My old friend has invited me for tea, how can I say no?” Lionel said, settling his indignant generals.
Lionel and a small contingent of imperial guards walked into the capital. Clan Bearkin formed a column to protect the dignitaries as they marched to the palace. Flanked by his loyal guards, Lionel took in the destruction and famine. From his observations, he could tell the news of the riot understated the damage the rioters had done to the capital. Broken buildings and starving faces lined the streets, a stark reminder of the cost of resistance.
The emissary led Lionel to the palace dining room. A servant bowed to the king and opened the door. Inside, King Ursa sat sipping tea, unguarded.
“How nostalgic,” remarked Lionel, telling his guards to wait outside.
“Your majesty, is it wise? There might be assassins inside,” a guard warned worriedly.
“Nonsense, I shall meet my old friend on equal footing,” Lionel declared, entering the tearoom alone.
“How bold to meet the enemy alone,” Baloo jabbed.
“Should you not greet your betters first, as it’s etiquette?” Lionel parried.
“I suppose I should congratulate you on your victory. Personally, I’m looking forward to when your endless warring ceases,” Baloo quipped as he sipped his tea.
Lionel’s lips curled into a smile. “Thank you. It’s nice to hear an honest opinion. So many of my vassals just echo my thoughts,” Lionel said, pausing to think for a moment before he sipped his tea.
“Did you think I poisoned your tea? Have I fallen so far in your favor?” Baloo smirked.
“If that was true, I wouldn’t have drunk the tea. Dear friend, you may be many things, but deceitful is not one,” Lionel complimented.
“So now we come to terms. As king, I cannot bow to you or another. But I will recognize you as the Beast King and send monthly tribute,” Baloo said sincerely.
“Ah, only a true friend would go to such great lengths. But I feel you overplayed your hand. Your capital is in shambles, your people starve, and your resources are running out. Surrender, bow, and I’ll appoint you as my imperial adviser. I’ll even fund your capital’s reconstruction,” Lionel smiled generously.
“Who said I’m running out of resources?” Baloo smirked.
“You…hired a smuggler, how fascinating. I’ll alert my patrols. I understand now, you expect to continue to wait out the siege. I guess we are at an impasse then,” Lionel sighed, standing up.
“We are only at a stalemate if you leave. I’m happy to negotiate the taxes we’ll pay, or how I declare you as Beast King,” Baloo negotiated.
“My old friend, all must bow for me to rise,” Lionel said disappointedly.
“You would take innocent lives, just for me to bow?” Baloo asked, his tone filled with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow.
“Yes, the ritual of Beast King demands the subservience of every race. Surely, you of all people understand how our racial bloodlines work. As kings, we suppress the bloodlines under us, and clan patriarchs suppress the bloodlines under them. The Beast King must suppress all bloodlines; otherwise, the principle of a Beast King does not exist. Thank you for the tea, old friend,” Lionel said, excusing himself from the table and heading outside.
The Lion King’s exit from the palace dining room left a tense silence in its wake. The inevitable war had arrived, and an unspoken regret hung in the air of what was to happen next.
“Prepare for war,” King Ursa declared to his vassals as he marched into the throne room. The clan patriarchs nodded their heads in determination.
...
In the Great Hall, Henry waited patiently for the patriarch to deliver the news. Stoic faces tinged with sorrow crowded the hall. They all knew the Lion King’s ambitions would not be easily quelled.
The patriarch entered the great hall with a stern face and military attire. Standing resolutely, he looked at the loyal members, many of whom had stood by him through countless trials, and gave the bad news, “Negotiations failed. We must prepare for the worst.” His voice steady but grave, continued, “Our Bearkin lives depend on our ability to withstand the siege. The king has tasked us to defend the forward battlements.”
“That’s madness, that’s where the fighting will be the heaviest,” shouted an angry clan member.
“We must do as the king commands. The other major clans are responsible for the other battlements. Three minor clans will also serve under our command,” explained Elder Grizz, a wise old Bearkin and one of the patriarch’s senior advisors.
“We come from a long ancestry of warriors and wardens,” the patriarch encouraged, looking directly at Henry. “Our clan won impossible wars in the past, and we’ll do so again this era! The survival of our clan and the Ursa Kingdom depends on our resilience and combativeness.”
“To Victory!” growled John triumphantly.
“To Victory!” echoed the clan, filled with zealous devotion.
...
Baloo watched from the balcony, as Lionel mounted his armored rhino and road to his encampment. As he watched his friend leave the capital, he couldn’t shake off the nagging doubt in his mind. The weight of his decision to not bow pressed heavily on his shoulders. Is obstinance would cost his race lives. However, surrendering the royal bloodline could lead to the Bearkin's extinction.
Baloo knew the road ahead would be fraught with bloodshed and betrayal. The price of being king was a heavy one, and Baloo found himself questioning whether it was worth the sacrifice. If he survived this war, he would announce his resignation. He was old, too old, and was ready to pass the crown to the next candidate.
Meanwhile, in the Feline Army, preparations for the impending siege were in full swing. The beastkin infantry build siege towers, battering rams, and trebuchets. Druids cast spells to empower their troops with an unshaken resolve.
Henry stood on the battlements and gazed out at the horizon at the enemy. The enemy's encampment stretched out like a sea of tents and the enemies were too many to count. He clenched his fists and braced for the inevitable clash.