1866-03-12: Feeding the Fire
Feeding the Fire
Summary: Alphard Tarris considers the next phase of his campaign, and issues a message to the people of Galenthia….
Date: Marse 12, 1866 IE
Related: Various items related to the resurgent Thorns in Galenthia.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Alphard  

Alphard Tarris finished off the last few spoonfuls of the hot, hearty stew without really tasting them, his eyes scanning the message two, three times over to make certain it was exactly as he intended it. He knew he should be pleased, and yet that gnawing discontent that never seemed to leave him remained. The assassins had never had the chance to accomplish their task with his nephew, so quickly had the man fallen to his double. That trap had, in hindsight, perhaps worked a bit TOO well, in that regard. Ah well, it kept more of his forces alive and ready to fight than he had anticipated and that was always a welcome bit of news.

He knew he had been bleeding men from the start of this campaign. He'd known that was going to be the way of things more than a year earlier, when the plan had fully come together. He'd known that many small sacrifices would have to be made to set the conditions of the battlefield to his liking. Now the time for those sacrifices was done. Oh, certainly, he would lose more men in the battles to come, but his long-secret allies were beginning to move, and without the might of the Tarris' military forces alongside them, the remainder of the Galenthian soldiers would have a much more difficult time stopping him.

The Malkess had been easy. The Laughing Dragon was as cruel and merciless as he himself was, with none of the competence at actually ruling. The betrayal had never sat well with them from the beginning, but they had gone along in fear of their liege. Given opportunity to remove Varian Reine's powerbase and perhaps seize it for themselves, they had eagerly leapt at the chance. Idly, Alphard's hand rubbes at his chest, where the scar from Varian's blade would forever linger. Truly, Anton's foresight had been unerring. He would almost have dubbed the man a prophet for how accurately he had foretold of events and prepared for them in this case, and yet…Anton was dead, so perhaps his prescience did not extend to himself. That pain cut far deeper than any wound…for Alphard Tarris had been a man of few friends. Each loss was a tragedy. The loss of Galenthia's rightful king even more so.

The Fitzroys had, in their own way, been easier. His wife had been much beloved of the Baroness, and her supposed death at the hands of those loyal to Arturo Romante had left a bitter taste in the Baroness' mouth. When Gauvain had turned coat, the Fitzroys had followed out of uncertainty and fear as well. Alphard had hated them for it at first, but over time he had come to appreciate the Baroness' wisdom in making that move, for it had made the events of the present possible. It almost made him wish that he could reveal his wife's survival to her. Perhaps he would, as a reward…once Victor Romante sat upon his rightful throne. Perhaps then he could reunite with his children, also long thought dead. Oh, they had not survived in the same manner Alphard himself had…but thankfully those that had done the killing were not those that had known his Wife

That is, if he could keep the boy alive that long. He relished bloodshed as much or more than Alphard himself did. He wanted to lead from the front. Admirable in its' own way…but the foolishness of youth. For all his unusual strengths, the Prince was not invincible. He would have to try to rein him in. Gently, of course…the Boy would be King one day soon, and Alphard would loyally serve him on that day, but he did not lead yet. Anton too had often had the lust for battle, and Alphard had just as often cautioned him to remain safe. The King has others to fight his battles for him. Such was the way of things. Victor still needed to learn that, but he remained an eager youth. The boy wanted to choke the life out of the Rose Queen with his bare hands. If all went according to plan…he would have his chance soon enough.

His other allies had also been invaluable. Resources. Weapons. Safe havens. Time and space to build and train his forces in secret. Many of them he did not even know the identities of, though he had suspicions…some stronger than others, and he had long since gathered that somewhere in the West was a single hand trying to guide all this, whether it belonged to one person or an organization of like-minded people (almost surely the latter). Well…let whoever bore that hand think they had another group of players at their beck and call. So long as it got Alphard what he needed, he would play the part of the loyal dog. Once Victor's reign was secured, they would see to tracking down the truth of these beliefs, for surely if such a group existed they could not be allowed to continue operating so freely in the future.

But that was a war to be fought another time. He had the present to worry about, and with that, he smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. It never did, save in those all-too-brief moments over the past few years that he had seen his wife. A good woman. A strong woman. A loyal woman. It might not have been love that bound them, but he had never regretted that partnership, and unlike his philandering elder sibling, he had been faithful to it. One more reason he was better than the long-dead Dougal, not that anyone but Anton had ever seemed to realize it.

In any case, he concluded his review of the message and nodded, sealing it with wax and handing it to the squire that attended him and noting, "Send it." He rose from his table, moving towards the adjoining chamber of the cave he currently occupied and studied the map of Galenthia that was spread across the much larger table here. After a few moments he glanced to Sir Rohlan, who had so ably impersonated him in the battle that had nearly cost his nephew his life. He couldn't help another harsh grin from painting his features as he spoke:

"Time to throw another log on the fire."


NOTE: This message spreads like wildfire in towns and villages all across Galenthia over the course of a week or so (by 03-19-1866). It is particularly prevalent in the Eastern Duchy, but is still widespread in other Duchies as well. It doesn't gain much traction in major loyalist strongholds or large cities, but in the countryside is another matter. Game effects stemming from this message will be described on-game.

To the Folk of Galenthia,

These past months, many of you have suffered. At Haron, Kirekwall, Goldhollow and Griffon Point alike, you, the common folk of Galenthia have bled, because those that claim to rule you have failed to protect you. We, the Army of the Grey, and the vanguard of the rightful King of Galenthia, his highness Prince Victor Romante, son of Anton Romante, regret this loss of life, and as such we offer truce, not with the traitorous lieges who gleefully gobble up your crops and herds to fatten their bellies and pinch your coppers to fatten their coffers, but with you, the true heart and soul of Galenthia, her people.

Henceforth, we will not turn your towns and villages into battlegrounds unless our enemy forces our hand, as they did in the Eastern Province, where even now forces loyal to the Prince fight against those that have illegally claimed rulership over you. In return for this consideration, we ask very little. We do not ask you to take up arms against your lieges. We do not ask you to fight for us. All we ask is that you stand fast and refuse to offer your lives for those that have profited from your hard work and offered only empty promises of protection in return. Why should you fight and die for those that have failed in their foremost responsibility to you?

To many, I am called the Butcher, and yet I ask you to walk the road to Tamlin Ford and see the bodies of loyal, hard-fighting men who even now rot in the sun upon crucifixes and tell me how my foes can claim to be any better, to allow such desecration of the fallen? I ask you to consider: Between myself and those that fight against me…who are the ones that ask you to shed your blood and the blood of your kin for a cause that means nothing to you and yours? Who is it that will ask you to die in a war that will not put food upon your tables, clothing on your backs, or help keep roofs above your heads and those of your families?

We do not ask this of you. In fact, we only ask that when the time comes…do nothing at all but live your lives. I should hope you will find this a far more generous offer than that which our foes will make in return. No doubt they will appeal to your loyalty to cajole you into joining their militias and levies, but again I say…what will you earn in return beyond the hardship and sorrow that comes with the inevitable loss of kin and neighbor? Or perhaps they will simply threaten you and yours, for certainly their actions (and inaction) have shown how little regard they have for your lives or those of your families. Of course, should the latter come to pass, we will not hold ill-will against you for taking arms against us…but remember the words of this message should such occur, and recall who it will have been that forced you into that position on the battlefield. Who then, should you truly be fighting once the weapon is in your hand?

With Respect,

Sir Alphard Tarris, Knight-Marshal of the Army of the Grey

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