“...only one possessed of that most dangerous of disqualifications, an amateur’s half-knowledge, would suggest that statesmen, innocent of all military training, are capable of understanding the complexities of the armies now characteristic of national conflict. So to, only such amateurs would suggest that one man alone, no matter their military acumen, can organize the thousand requirements, small and large, of such forces without the extraordinary genius present in mankind only once every score of years.

As such, the delegation of responsibility and the adequately structured command, united under the common will of the most able, are of the utmost importance to the wellbeing of bodies of men in the field. Alongside this, contrary to the claims of previous great leaders of men, in the confusing fog of warfare, one must on occasion improvise the deployment of thousands. This necessity of coordinated improvisation necessitates communication not present with our earthly means, but can be substituted by a combined understanding and training. The army must be as the orchestra: able to follow the instructions of the plans and the leader, but willing and prepared to deviate for the good of the operation.

It is for such purposes the unified curriculum of the Academy is paramount, changing with times yet uniform across officers, to the enduring ability of intermediate leadership to perform its rightful role...”

-Fairfax, Amolia. Proposal for the Establishment of the Army Academy of Venbrad, pg.5, penned 14th Midwinter, 1799.

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The halls of the Royal Palace of Baderven, snaking and tall and paved with marble and ivory, were nearly empty. They always were, after the rebellion. Built for sniveling courtiers to live lives of opulence, courtiers replaced now with the conniving politicals who resembled their forebears in every way but the now-revoked titles, the corridors were silent after dark. Amolia had learned to ignore the waste of resources, reminding herself of the symbolism commoners found so appealing. At least they didn’t have to heat the whole palace anymore.

Her boots rang through the corridors with a crisp staccato, her pace characteristically confident and rapid. Even with the moon crawling its way languorously into the sky, there was no reason to waste time. General Amolia Fairfax does not move when not required, and she does not keep her requirements waiting.

She rapped thrice at a door, ignoring the pair of guards in their ceremonial black-and-navy, their weapons resting casually at their sides, knowing full well her identity. Only one woman is or has been permitted the epaulets of Marshal.
“Come in”

The voice was reedy and weak. The symptoms of a cold fast passing, Amolia assumed. She entered the royal bedchamber, the young form of her monarch huddled beneath furs and blankets feet thick. He’d fallen ill a few days ago, and was well on his way to recovery, but his stamina had not recovered, and his tone of solemn command had not restored itself.

In body, they were entirely different. She, of moderate height for a woman, he tall for a man. She, scarred and blemished, he unmarked and handsome. Her hair, a fading orange, his a vibrant chestnut. In mind, they were quite similar, at least in disposition. Amolia frequently reminded herself she could have had a far worse ruler.

“I have the papers you asked for, my King. The engineers say they are making good headway: we should have the model ready next month”
He placed a sheaf of papers to one side, and accepted her offered few. Designs for a new musket, more accurate, or so the designers claim. As content as she was with her King, his youth and inexperience were evident: A dangerous in a supreme ruler, but changeable with time. Twenty is a young age for those unused to responsibility.

“This is excellent Marshal, truly excellent. And this will be ready for-“

“One must not pin operational hope on the products of engineers, my King.” She corrected him politely, and he accepted her wisdom graciously. “We will be ready with or without this new model, if it will indeed be worthwhile at all”.

“Then you have finished the plans? You are really going to do it?” His eyes filled with that common emotion, that intriguing mix of fear and admiration that makes men follow without question.

“We will do it. You will lead Venbrad on its ascent, not I” A falsehood they both understood, but the words had to be said, for both their benefit. “I have the final draft here."

The sickly king accepted the document, the ink barely dry from her copying scant minutes ago. With a bow, Amolia exited, the customary salute elicited from the Lifeguards at the door. She strode away, to her quarters and to her welcoming bed, stifling a yawn as she went. The King read the papers eagerly, a knot tying and untying itself in his stomach with every line, fear and anticipation gripping him in equal measure as he made repeated glances back to the title of the packet.

"Strategic Aims and Operational Procedure in the War for Venbradian Sovereignty, 11th of First Harvest..."

A smile formed on Fairfax's face as she quit the palace, her fatigue marred at the edges with frantic adrenaline. Her debut on the grandest stage of world history would begin shortly.

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Ancient cedars bristled overhead, roaring softly in the winds that blew over the forested ridge. Peculiar weather indeed for the middle of winter on the steppe; much too warm. For nearly a half-moon, a warm spell had settled over the land, liberating the rolling plains of its blanket of icy crust. The people of the steppe certainly welcomed the milder weather. Their appreciation was tempered by the reminders of their oracles, who affirmed that winter warm spells were bad omens.

Atu, however, was never one to put much stock in the words of oracles.

The hooves of their steeds crunched soggily against the muddy slush of the forest floor. Atu's eyes scanned across the understory, seeking any twitch of motion that seemed out of place against the gentle sway of the windblown evergreens. His ears listened for the the slightest rustling that might indicate the movement of their quarry. But he could only hear the sound of the wind through the needly boughs and the soft hooffalls of Muhtai's horse: his only company.

Muhtai and Atu had been companions since they could ride - a young age indeed, considering the people of the steppe are often acquainted with horsemanship as soon as or before they can walk. When their friendship was six winters old, each drank a cup of blood cut from the other's right palm, and they became blood brothers by the ancient laws the Nyumashen and Kuotohun himself. Since then, Muhtai and Atu had been inseparable. And so when Atu suggested that they take advantage of the unseasonable warmth and go for a hunt, Muhtai could hardly refuse.

After some time of riding softly through the forest, Atu heard what sounded like a distant bird's call: twi-twi-tweee. He recognized it as Muhtai's attention whistle, and halted his horse. His blood brother had stopped a few paces behind him, pointing to his pupils with two fingers and then pointing down to a patch of disturbed mud nearby. A layer of slush had been overturned, exposing moist pine needles and fresh mud. Crisscrossing trails of fresh deer tracks radiated out from the spot. A bevy had been here to seek out nuts and roots buried under the patches of old snow. Judging by the freshness of the tracks, they hadn't been gone for long.

It was then that a flicker of motion drew Atu's eye. Perhaps a hundred paces in front of them was a magnificent stag too busy pawing after seeds buried under half-melted snow to notice the hunters. As quietly as he could, Atu drew his bow and notched it. As naturally and thoughtlessly as he walked or drew breath, Atu pulled the bowstring against those wide cheekbones and immediately let the arrow fly.

Something had alerted the stag. Perhaps the nigh-silent strain of the bow, or perhaps the sound of the arrow's fletching cutting through the air. In any case, the beast bolted off, and not a moment too soon. A masterfully-placed arrow flew throw the air where the beast's chest had been an eyeblink earlier. The arrow's razor-sharp iron head found itself lodged three knuckles deep in the trunk of a cedar instead of the stag's beating heart.

With that, Muhtai and Atu smashed their heels against the haunches of their horses. The chase was on. Puffs of horsebreath streamed from the nostrils of their steeds as they were galvanized into action. Clods of mud and soggy snow were thrown into the air as the horses bolted after the deer.

Atu's braid of fine black hair billowed as he steered the horse around mighty trunks and boulders. As the hunters picked up speed, they saw fleeting glimpses of their prey bounding away. One moment, the deer's rump could be seen bounding through the understory, only to disappear behind a trunk. Then another glimpse of those mighty antlers crashing through a patch of leafless bushes. Muhtai now sensed the opportunity to fell the beast. In a single fluid motion, Atu's blood brother drew an arrow from his quiver and pulled the bowstring against to his face and fired. Without even waiting to see if the arrow hit its mark, Muhtai drew another arrow, pulled it to his face, and fired. Draw, pull, release. Draw, pull, release.

Each arrow came within inches of the stag's rump. But the stag knew to strafe and change direction at the last minute, and each arrow ultimately missed and embedded in a trunk or a patch of snow. It was becoming clear that this was an old, experienced stag. He had witnessed other brushes with hunters and he had survived each encounter. Even so, Atu was determined to make this one the stag's final hunt. He kicked his heels against the horse's sides twice, pushing it as fast as it could go.

Trees rushed past him with the wind and he felt bits of moisture against his cheek - it had begun to rain. Atu paid no attention to it, devoting the entirety of his attention on his prey. His world narrowed to the fleeing deer, the bouncing head of his horse, and the bow in his arm. Neither the fat raindrops falling through the canopy, the darkening sky, nor the distant rumble of thunder were noted.

In the distance, the trees gave way to open grassland and the boughs of the cedars opened up to reveal a sky of tumultuous stormclouds. The deer was quickly running out of forest, as Atu had intended. Here in the trees, the beast's maneuverability and the cover of the forest gave it the advantage. But the open plains belonged to the horsemen; the lack of cover would spell the beast's doom.

Atu and the stag broke through the treeline and charged across an open expanse of grass upon the ridge's edge. Up here, the steppes rolled for leagues and leagues to great mountains far to the west. But from the north, a terrible storm rolled across the sky, flashing angrily with lightning. Cold rain fell hard upon the land as it approached.

Out here, the deer had nowhere to hide, he was at Atu's mercy now. Draw, pull, release.

But before Atu could see his arrow find its mark between the stag's shoulderblade, his narrow world exploded with the flash of lightning as he felt Kuotohun's power.

And with that, the blackness consumed him.

Rain fell to the ground making a sound like the footsteps of a thousand tiny warriors charging. Jan and his wife Theodora where walking through the woods for what was supposed to be a romantic stroll for the two lovers. The Hypnosian Empire was in a tense position, rumors rolled through the populace stating that a revolution is being planned, but no one knew who was too lead it. The large oak trees that seemed to stretch into the sky shook with the wind, as if they knew what would eventually happen.

At the age of 14 the former Basileia put Jan under training of the finest General throughout the Empire. The General abused Jan mentally, physically, and sexually, treating the young Basilance as a slave. When Jan's father died when Jan was 18 his first act as Basileia was to punish the general by stripping him naked and leaving him into the woods of the steppes. No one knew what happened to the general, but rumors state he was eaten by a rather large bear. This experience made Jan who he is today, a cruel warrior bent on spreading justice.

Theodora, on the other hand had an easier childhood. On her mothers side her grandparents left one of the duchies around the Lancian Empire during its mass conquest. On her fathers side her dynasty stretches far back to aristocrats and dukes around the Empire. She lived in a large villa in the capital city of Constansaw and she went to one of the best royal universities in all of the Empire.

Thunder clapped through the sky and Jan looked up, a smile on his face.

"It seems Tetrios is angered tonight my love, I must wonder why?" Jan stated.

"I do not know my love, let us hope the Anti-Quanitarchy are not planning on helping the revolution?" Theodora replied back.

"Theodora you need not worry, we have the support Luminos on our side, we will not lose to the Horsemen of Destruction".

"I pray that you are right Jan".

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Paligius stood in front of his throne with a wicked smile on his face. His wife, Adela, sat next to him. Paligius was the bastard son of the former Emperor. In front of him a criminal laid on the ground. In Paligius's hand he held the sword of Alexandros.

"Criminal chosen by darkness, do you have any last words?" Paligius roared.

"Yes, I just want you to know that you shall never succeed, you will never spread this re..." the criminal attempted to say.

Paligius's sword slashed through the air and hit the neck of the criminal. Blood went everywhere as his head was detached from his body.

"That will teach you to mess with me." Paligius stated as he kicked the head aside.

"Paligius, was that really needed?" Adela said, looking over at Paligius questionably.

"My dear, to succeed at my plan, at our plan, I must get rid of anyone who will complicate things".

"Yes but that seemed to be a bit much, we could of just put him into the oubliette".

"And hear him spill that to the other prisoners, no, death the was the only scenario he deserved".

"Okay, dear."

"Now then, let us get started on finalizing our phony revolution".