//------------------------------//
// Chapter I 
// Story: The Fallen Emperor 
// by SirCarrot 
//------------------------------//

Edmin’s talons moved across the warm deck of the stricken ship, the wood creaking where the day’s struggles had weakened it. The fires were mostly put out by now; mostly. Regardless, as much supply needed to be salvaged from it before it completely sunk. Edmin wondered once again why this was his job, the fourth son of a minor Vedinian lord, his father had sided with the Grovers during their invasion of the Northern Kingdoms. They didn’t get much for their loyalty (or disloyalty depending on who you asked) in terms of land. Still, Edmin’s brothers had secured major positions, and Edmin became the harbormaster of Turhamn, the capital of Vedinia. It was a tedious job, but it paid well and Edmin was content, at least until the Grovers picked a fight with Nova Griffonia, and Equestria, their masters. 

The war in question had been very unpopular, but the ambitions of Archon Eros were unmatched. The Equestrians, just coming off the heels of defeating the Changelings, were more than ready to meet them, and meet them they had. Twice the Griffonian Empire had tried to take Nova Griffonia, and twice they had failed, with hundreds of thousands of Griffons dead upon the beaches. The Equestrians had counterattacked in turn, taking the most recent Griffonian conquest: The Kingdom of Wingbardy. The resurgent Griffonian Empire was collapsing, everyone knew it at some level. The Archon, always a sore loser, launched a third and final invasion of Nova Griffonia, the results of which Edmin looked on now.

The carrier: Pride of Rottendedam, had been towards the back of the invasion force, providing air support for the troops. That saved it from sinking on the waters of the battlefield, but not from taking a fatal submarine wound to the stern. It had limped back to Turhamn, and as it sunk, Edmin knew it took the last hope of the Empire with it. 





Edmin stepped off the small fishing boat that had ferried him back to shore, absently thanking the owner who had been pressed into service. He walked towards the local pub, Edmin intended to drink himself into oblivion. He ordered a spirit, sat down on a stool, and huddled around the radio with the rest of the patrons. Currently, a Skynavian communist was declaring a People’s Republic independent of the Grovers, and a republican revolution was taking place in Cloudbury, capital of the collapsed Griffonian Republic. They weren’t the only ones either, and Edmin knew that numerous warlords, revolutionaries, and opportunists were declaring themselves free of the rule of Griffenheim. 

Edmin had not eaten today, and the alcohol was going straight to his head. He barely noticed when two Griffons dressed in uniforms he did not recognize entered the pub. “We are soldiers of the Vedinian Revolutionary Guard, hand over any Griffonian collaborators for execution.” There was a pause, then everyone looked at Edmin. His story was known around here, and he wasn’t popular. On the bright side though, he was too drunk to feel the noose going around his feathered neck, or to feel the pain that followed.





The Archon was staring out the window of the palace, watching the battle that played out below. The Equestrians had encircled Griffenheim from the south, the revolutionaries from the north. The Archons office was in the Knight’s Tower of the palace, which was the second tallest tower beside the King’s Tower. Taking up the entire top floor and surrounded by a massive panoramic glass window, the office was fit for the Kaiser. Yet it was used by a religious leader. Grover had a small unused study, sometimes the peasants have a point.

Tomorrow would be his fourteenth birthday if he lived that long anyway. Grover the VI, Lord of Griffenheim, Kaiser of Griffonia, and Emperor to all Griffons, held very little power. Archon Eros was his regent, and at the old age of 102 was terrified to let a mere child by his eyes have any real power. It didn’t stop the traitors from blaming Grover all the same, in fact, nowadays, they burned his portrait as much as Eros’s. 


The Archon turned around, shaking his head, “Traitors, all of them. I should have made more reeducation camps, and been less lenient on sympathizers. This wasn’t your fault my Emperor, you understand?” Grover absently nodded his head, he had heard the same speech daily for the past three months. He wasn’t sure that killing more ‘sympathizers’ would have solved anything, but he could agree it wasn’t his fault.

“You need to get out of here, our loyalists won't keep the eastern corridor open much longer.” The Archon was probably right, not that Grover liked it though.

“They’ll call me a coward if I flee to the River Federation, and who's to say they won't extradite me?” Grover’s retort had some logic, but he knew the Archon was right, on this at least.

“You should know better than to take traitor opinions to heart, and the Federation is less likely to disembowel you on the spot. It will damage your pride, but you are the last of your line. Who knows, maybe the empire will be restored under one of your children.” The thought was pleasant, if optimistic. 

“I’ll take my leave then, will you join us?” Grover asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, my place is here. But I’d rather not be lynched.” The ancient griffon opened a drawer in his gilded desk, withdrawing an archaic revolver. “My father’s pistol, it should get the job done well enough.” The young emperor stared at the revolver for a moment, then at the Archon, without another word, he left the room.

Grover quickly gathered up his small party, they had already been waiting. Three servants carrying various supplies, one carrying a king's ransom in gold, two guardsmen, and Fulso, Grover’s sworn shield. Grover shrugged into his ludicrously expensive armor, quickly loaded his crown and some other personal trinkets into a pack, strapped his expensive but deadly pistol into its holster, and said to Fulso, “Let's be off then.” The group left under cover of darkness, Grover inwardly weeping at leaving what remained of his Empire to the traitors, outwardly his face was carved as stone. The shot he heard from the Knight’s Tower barely brought a wince to him.