"Veronica," disturbed the right hand of the emperor, startling the young girl awake without even the slightest inkling of hesitation. Before the princess could even gather her bearings, the advisor readily continued onward with her statement, not being tasked with caring as to whether or not she would understand a single word spoken to her. "You have lost sight of your task, both of your position and of your divine purpose in this grand scheme. Allow me to remind you, the longer you stay in this room, the longer it will be until the people of Embla see the prowess of their heiress. Tell me, child, when the emperor is gone, what do you plan to do? Will you submit to the Askran military, or will you bring Embla to a higher power than it has ever seen before?" she rhetorically questioned, not allowing Veronica to get an edge in. "Where are your limits, the bounds of your dreams?"
Veronica's eyes only widened at this, her expression full of nothing less than astonishment as her father's assistant tugged her up out of bed by the arm, squeezing her tender flesh as she readily tugged her to her feet. Once again, she couldn't speak a single word without being interrupted by the much older woman, who now guided her to the small balcony outside of her bedroom. "Once you are the emperor, you will have little choice but to intensify yourself. Look out, tell me, what will you do when they all rest in your hands, crawling like vermin," she questioned, gesturing outward with her free hand as the first drifted to the princess's shoulder, gripping it as a means to keep her positioned facing the capital city. From the balcony, one could see outward for miles, all the way to the city on the outskirts of the territory, near the gate to the Outrealms, where war was being waged with each passing day. As Veronica focused on this, she could only wonder when her father would return, if he would question why she had not prepared anything for him today. She was soon drawn back to the grim reality, her focus shifting back to the older woman, whose name she could not remember. Forever would she remember her face, the way the red hue of the sunset highlighted her skin, deepening the bags under her eyes with shadows.
"I... I don't want to be seen as a monster," Veronica managed to finally say, much to the displeasure of the advisor, whose gaze she could feel burning into her like an arcane fire spell. "Ruling with an iron fist... it will only worry the people and make them start fighting against every move I make. If I care for them, won't they do the same for me?" It was a gentle proposal on her part, but all the same, it would be met with dissatisfaction. No matter what her heart told her, it seemed the woman would not be agreeing with her.
"Ultimately, you will have no choice. I was once foolish enough to believe that we could solve our problems through talking and talking alone. You learn quickly in the real world that such kindness will be your downfall, that all it will bring is your own suffering," warned her elder, slowly raising her hand to her chin, tilting it upward so she would be able to hold eye contact. Deep down, Veronica could feel the emotion masked behind her venomous words. It was almost guttural when coming from the white haired advisor, like the voice of a man bleeding out on the battlefield with no cleric or vulnerary at the ready to save him from his impending fate. "If you lay your trust in a man, all he will do is harm you, will use your love for his gain and then leave you to die. Understand this well, heed my words."
Out of guilt, Veronica looked down, though she had never been one to experience the love that the advisor so viscerally described to her. In part, this had to do with her being so young, but it also pertained to the Emperor, whose shadow she lingered behind. She had never had such an intense bond, nor could she understand such subtleties. All she could do was listen to the words of the advisor, even if her mind was wandering back to the battlefield.
In war, many would die.
Often, this was a thought that plagued the emperor, though it was a reality he had long accepted. He would never get his rest if he hadn't. On both sides, bodies lay lifeless on the ground, be it that of mages or swordsmen, knights and foot soldiers. Ultimately, their rank and position in life mattered not, for all the same they would sacrifice their lives for their beliefs, be it for Askr or Embla's name. Some had been burned to a crisp, others losing their lives from the violent swings of a weapon. However, their untimely demises were not his focus, nor were they his concern. He had much larger goals to fight toward, his own ambitions guiding him deep into the savagery of the war.
The emperor guided his stallion through the battlefield, the horse weaving through confrontations with ease. He cared not for these soldiers adorned in white and gold. He only wanted his highness, King Gustav, to fall under his hand, by the might of Hjaðningavíg. As he delved deeper, his own vassals falling short in keeping up with him. "Where is he who claims he cannot be killed? May that precious heart of Angrboða protect him now, for he will meet his end here!" he called out to the king who dared to cower away from his line of sight. The leader of the Askran knights had spoken so highly as to what he would do once the emperor emerged from hiding within the castle walls. So, where was he? Momentarily, he stood still, raising his hand that was not clasping the reins to shield his eyes from the blazing sun above.
It took no time at all for him to spot the Askran king, charging forth, Glipnir in hand, ready to be swung forth and strike down the emperor before he and his royal knights could invade any further than they had already done to pillage the territories along the border, progressively toward the capital city. He readied himself immediately, taking advantage of his position to strike first. A dense blast of magical energy emerging from the tome, Hjaðningavíg, striking the king without mercy. Gustav deflected much of the damage with the honed edge of Glitnir, though the power certainly harmed him more than he had initially bargained for, but all the same, a swift swing of his axe would return the favor, readily tearing away the fabric talisman on the emperor's armor, which wore the coat of arms of the empire with such immense pride. "Back to Hel with you, wretched man!" declared the king without hesitation, laying waste to the mage before him in a follow-up attack. Before him, the mounted emperor stood tall, not daring to clutch his chest, which now ached from the damage it had taken. Even so, there was no time for searing pain, nor was there time to have the metal that grazed his chest removed. These feelings were mutual, even as the king kept his eyes focused on the emperor, his head pounding and his skin feeling as though it was being eaten away from his muscles.
Dust in the air, the odor of sweat and blood beginning to fill the nostrils of both monarchs. It seemed that both were accepting of the reality before them, that in war, it was necessary for one to be slain for the other to continue down their respective paths. One would stand in the other's way, and unfortunately, talking things to a solution was no longer an option. With this, the imperial emperor cast his next spell, returning the damage he had taken without mercy, knocking the air out of the king's lungs with the sheer intensity of these accursed spells. Now, the saccharine fluid within him coated his tongue, the metallic taste enough to make him gag more so than the constriction that continued relentlessly. He had escaped death from her incarnation, he could find his way out of this, to continue his assault on these forces. As his vision faded, his time had come to riposte with the force of his secret weapon... the blessing of Angrboða. Of course, this would later in life cost him so much, inflict incurable illnesses, but in truth... it was a small price to pay. His life belonged to his people, and he had promised himself that he would never lose sight of this, even at the price of his health and the chance to grow old with the woman he loved. Glitnir surged to life, an aura of blue energy surrounding it as he raised it for an enhanced attack, the curse of Hjaðningavíg dissipating as his stallion reared, allowing the impact to come down without any mercy. He hardly batted an eye as the emperor raised his tome, the pages being split much like his flesh.
Unfortunately, that was how war was, the muscles of his shoulder splitting away, gaping wound bleeding profusely. This damage was enough to make him lose his grip on the bridle, falling from his horse and onto the ground. Gustav dismounted in turn, armored boots clinking against the rocky earth below. He may have been an enemy, but he was no monster. He would not leave even his worst enemy to bleed out, an act of unnecessary cruelty... Once more, he took hold of his axe's hilt, taking more meticulous aim to finish off the emperor, as he hardly had the strength to move as the blood continued to spill from his wound, the man attempting to crawl away with his good arm. Gustav cringed at this image, now certain that it was one that would forever haunt his mind. He placed his boot on the man's back, winding up again and- ...
KrrraCK!
Once he was certain that his job was done, he raised the emperor's cape, laying it over the remains, shielding innocent eyes from having to bear witness to the execution he had performed. He was not one to kill an innocent man. This was to ensure the safety of his own family and the realms that Embla had enslaved. His job here was done... There was little need to continue the bloodshed and increase the number of casualties. "Men!" he bellowed out to his forces, "Let us return home to Askr, they have seen enough of this war. We will reconvene and return, be off!"
