Communique day 12

Author’s note: I’ve been lazy. Sadface
“Seems a bit odd for the Fourth Aspect.”  Aten said with a quizzical look etched across his face. “Isn’t the Leader is all about improving the lives of the people?”
“But not at the expense of running the economy or the established order.” Kayli retorted. She had been casually flailing about with the knife she was using to eat the meal in front of her,  and now had it pointed directly at Aten as she spoke, and the Courier recoiled away from the blade. Kayli didn’t even seem to notice. On the Order to Chaos scale of morality, the only real anti-Order aspect of the Leader is the fact that He disposes the previous leader. Mostly, the Fourth Aspect just improved upon the existing Order. That’s why I follow the Rebel.”
“Regardless of that, why would the practice remain intact? The Second Aspect would obviously vote against slavery, and the First Aspect would probably follow suit, that’s two-to-one  against, bye-bye slavery.”
Kayli frowned and shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way, for one thing, the Unified Church of the Wanderer voted alongside the Fourth Aspect to keep the practice going, and, since time in memorial, the Oligarchy, when split even on a vote, ruled – by default – to keep the old position. Now, the reason the Unified Church decided to keep the slaves, well, that’s an interesting one. Public opinion has been swayed slightly in favour of the Third Aspect ever since they were kicked out of the Oligarchy in the aftermath of the First Coup d’état. The problem with this is, the idiots in charge of military matters decided that – the Conqueror being the single most militaristic Aspect, His servants would be relegated to the training of the citizenry for war. And, since time in Memorial, all Silk citizens are warriors. You can see what happened there.”
However, Aten couldn’t see what was going on. He stared dumbly at his revolutionary lieutenant, suddenly feeling very, very under qualified to lead the slave revolt he had inadvertently started. “To be honest, I’m lost.”
He admitted, feeling even dumber than before, when the words were floating around in his head and not out there for all to hear. Kayli didn’t actually seem upset, she just smiled, happy to continue speaking, it seemed. Perhaps her former master never made use of her talent for extrapolation and information gathering. Which didn’t seem like that far-fetched of an idea.
“Well, it’s quite simple, really. Half the point of basic training is to turn the civilian mind into the military mind. And, when your military minds are worship and follow the Third Aspect…” Kayli trailed off, waiting for Aten to fill in the blanks
“Then your citizens are all converted to the cause of the Conqueror, bringing Him into the popular opinion, and therefore, the worries of the Unified Church.”
“Exactly.” Kayli replied. The brevity of the statement only serving to punctuate how firmly, Aten had struck the nail on the head. “And then, when Kijin strode into the Oligarchy chambers, demanding a seat, The Unified Church was want to give it to him, and the others would be all to happy to get the Unified Church’s actual opinion instead of having them run around as puppets for the Third. Then came the second Coup d’etat. Thing B led to thing C, and now, here we are. Silkoth isn’t an Oligarchy any more, we’re a Theocracy run by the Aspect of the Conqueror. Our head of state is a bloodthirsty psychopath with a sword he claims to be magickal.”
“Kijin?” Aten asked.
“Kijin.” Kayli confirmed.

“Okay.  Let’s get back to talking strategy.” Aten said, breaking off the history lesson there. “The plan is to what – find the remants of the Second Aspect and hope the Rebels have a plan from there?”
Kayli shrugged. “Yeah, theat’s pretty much it right now. Any idea where to find them?”
“I’m from Troiza.”
“Good point. I’ll get right on investigating.”

~*~

In what used to be the chambers of the Oligarchy, Kijin of the Conqueror stood on the balcony, overlooking the urban landscape below, that bloody, ebon sword still lashed tightly across his back. The city was different now, with all the troops he could spare marched out of the City. It would be a while before and runners made it to the front lines to spread the news of the line’s new orders, and it would take just as long to recall any forces to defend Silkoth, at the very least. He was relatively undefended, now. The city practically deserted, with only essential personnel still roaming around in the bright Silkoth Scarlet. Far, far too much of the street was choked in the naked bodies of the slaves deemed too unreliable to send into battle. This was a problem. Kijin was well and sure enough that he could take any given dozen or so slaves, but the hundreds moving through his city’s arteries right now? With so many of them being new to their rightful place under Silk heels? They used to be proud men. Troizans, Thesolians, Cartinos, it was a cultural melting pot down there, and these were the cases strong willed enough to try to subvert the  good and proper Silk people.

It was disgusting.

Kijin turned to make his way out of the chamber, in order to walk the streets, as he was wont to do so, what felt like long ago, when he was just a sergeant.  He was selected to lead the squad on an expedition. All of them, to the man, Third Aspect Faithful. Every last one of them was a Justicar. Elite Third Aspect warriors, special operatives deployed on special assignments.  The squad was sent out to seek out rumours of the place where, in the Ballad of the Wanderer, the Conqueror was said to have taken his oath of pacifisim. He lay down his sword before a massive stone altar to the Celestial Oligarchy, and jammed the blade into the dust beside it. Legend amongst the Third Aspect church says that he originally raised the blade to cleave the altar in twain, to declare his power above even the Oligarchy. To claim that he, himself, was a God walking the earth. Then, as one, the Oligarchy turned their considerable powers on Him, punishing the Conqueror in his Hubris, making him feel the pain he had inflicted over the years, all the fear and revulsion and world-shattering agony caused by his sword-stroke. By his totalarian decree, by everything he ever did.  So bodily forced into obidence, the Wanderer dropped his sword and vowed his Non-violence vow.

It was believed that this relic still had a shard of the Wanderer’s sould lodged within it, an ancient, deep power, full or martial prowess and vigour and, best of all, the ability to control. To lodge all the niggling doubts and fears out of the hindbrain and wrench them to a disgusting forefront. And, when the expedition laid eyes upon it, every last member fell on each other.

In a mad, lusty grasp for the power this sword represented, swords and axes and spears and chains flew, a hectic, chaotic melee. Kijin found himself musing as he stood off to the side that the Conqueror would be proud his subjects were so martially adept, and that the one of the troupe meant to wield the sword stood off to the side, letting his opponents devour each other. After the blood had been spilt over the Holy site, Kijin walked forward to meet the battered, bloody and beaten victor of the savage combat and laughed jovially, as if to congratulate the winner, even reaching a hand out to clap the fellow on the back. It was only at the last possible instant that Kijin revealed his intentions, quickly moving the off-hand in to meet his main, firmly gripping his compatriot by the chin and the portion of the neck directly below the skull, between the first two vertebrae, where the neck was at its most vulnerable.

And then, Kijin twisted, reveling in the wet, and wholly exhilarating crack – like a bag full of blood and bone being dropped onto the hard stone floor from the Oligarchy chambers. Kijin strode forward, pausing only to spit upon the shrine to the Celestial Oligarchy. That foul rock was a cursed thing if you listened to any Third Aspect priest. When he drew up the blade from its resting spot in the natural rock floor, he felt an energy course through him, vaguely reminded of that one time in his youth he was struck by one of Wixi’s bolts as he tended the fields outside his barrack in a lightning storm, and his mouth was filled with a flavour he could only describe by likening it to intense, dark colours. The thing was glorious, it was powerful, and it was his. He wasn’t going to let it go.

And so, when his superiors back in Silkoth requested the blade for themselves, Kijin responded in a fairly final manner; he ran them through. After this display of bravado, partially out of fear and partially out of admiration for their justicar Sergant’s bravado, the warrior was immediately elevated to the rank of Representative – the Third aspect’s political voice in the Oligarchy – which is what inspired Kijin’s successful coup d’état.

As Kijin was fondly recalling the events behind his meteoric rise to power, he eventually relized he had reached the bottom of the Oligarchy tower, shortly before the warrior stepped out onto the street. His nostril immediately filled with the scent of hundreds of ill-kempt slaves, the sweat and dirt and skin smells washed off them like rainwater. A cadre of soliders ran up to greet him, hands on their swords, eyes wide, as if expecting trouble.
“Sir!” one of them called out, rasing his off-hand to hail Kijin . The ruler, too seasoned of a warrior to take these warning signs as mere nothings drew his sword, eyes casting about for the source of the contention. At the end of it all, he needed look no further than the men approaching him.

Apparantly, they weren’t very good at this “assassin” business. Taking Kijin’s drawn blade as a sign that their cover was blown, Kijin’s malefactors drew their own blades – every last one of them carrying the scimitars favoured by followers of the Second Aspect. Well, that was typical, and, Kijin caught himself thinking, extremely refreshing. He hadn’t killed anybody since General Soriji the other day. He was feeling bored.

Kijin took quick stock of the situation. There was a half-squad of men. Five soldiers, all equipped with iron scimitars. So, it was immediately apparent that whomever equipped them either didn’t trust them enough to give them good, strong steel or didn’t have enough faith to believe they could get the job done. Nevertheless, Iron cut well enough and Kijin was feeling confident enough to go about unarmoured, though it was difficult to tell under the baggy sable robe he was wearing. The only thing underneath it was simple, homespun clothing. The robe itself was mostly ornamental, only serving to mildly blur his outline and make the man look bigger than he really was. To be fair, this was no small feat. Kijin was a rather large man, muscles twisting and corded through long years of training and practice. His assailants wore the bright, golden-coloured armour standard amongst Silk soldiers – a breastplate, pair of bracers and a set of greaves. This left their joints, abdomen, upper arm, upper leg, head and neck vulnerable. Though the exquisite blade he had retrived from the Conqueror’s Alter was likely both had and sharp enough to rip through the armour easily, he didn’t grow to his age without being cautious whenever men drew swords.
“Five little rebels.” Kijin snarled at his malefactors. “Is that all I’m worth? Is that all you’re worth? Just cannon fodder thrown at me to test my strength? I was a Justicar even before I retrieved the Conqueror’s blade. Your Shaharoth quake in fear before my kind.”
“The Rebel’s cause is righteousness.” One of the assassins replied, circling around the dictator. At least these men weren’t stupid enough to give Kijin an easy time. They were surrounding him. The former Justicar shifted his stance, holding his wicked and deadly blade high above his head.
“Let us test Righteousness before my Might, then.”

The speaker took the bait, opening his mouth to loose a battle cry he no doubt thought was blood-curdling. Kijin paid no attention to anything then that the man, for all his basic grasp of swarmfighting tactics, was woefully undertrained in the art of actually trying to kill somebody. The Conqueror’s jet blade neatly bisected the charger’s neck as Kijin sidestepped away from the warrior’s momentum, sending his would-be assassin into a second, who jumped out of the way.

To the credit of the man’s fellows, they waited until the new corpse hit the dirt before closing the distance.