This godless endeavor
God help me, I do love it so.
There were seven sovereign kingdoms of Grand Godsland alongside eighteen Republics, each with their own division of provinces. Sabathia was currently winning its war with the Turqs and was already making preparations towards declaring its autonomy. Their forthcoming President was currently unaware that he would be assigned his own Advisor, absent of any official request. The neutral Godsland territories housed the Central Mint, which imposed their own non-negotiable policies.
...
There were thirty-nine photographs showcased across the front wall of the classroom, all of them neatly arranged and oriented. Each photograph flaunted a large national flag with Fairchild hoisting one end and an utmost dignitary balancing the other above the ground. Each dignitary seemed to offer smiles that stretched across their faces... Monarchs, Emperors, and Presidents alike. To some the expressions of the dignitaries appeared almost coerced. To others they looked as children, forced to pose at behest of their parents.
Strickland was always the first to arrive at the Godsland Institute and habitually claimed a seat towards the back of the classroom. His official Post was stationed in Rescedan, a convenient three hour's journey away on horseback. The other Advisors would be traveling from every corner of the grand Terra; at least one representative per kingdom or state, sometimes two or three. Though they all shared a common duty and purpose, few were friends or acquaintances outside of their designated Posts. Strickland himself recognized faces and names of other Advisors but otherwise knew nothing of his classmates, aside from the stray strands of gossip that occasionally found their way to his ears.
The classroom filled quickly as the official time approached, and each of the sixty-three desks were accounted for as the class time arrived. There were military generals in full uniform, chancellors with colorful cloaks, and priestesses with flowing cloaks, amongst a variety of other officials. Strickland himself was dressed in a navy blue tunic that matched the royal color of the Rescedan flag. His amber eyes kindled against his tan skin, black hair, and the midnight attire he donned
Little chatter was heard amongst the attendees, and none of it rose above unintelligible whispers.
Finally, Fairchild arrived, always fashionably late by a five-to-ten minute window. He looked rather scrawny in comparison with the other males who sat in his classroom, with large round spectacles and a teardrop face, but his steely gray eyes imposed their own authority. He was always immaculately dressed with an admiral's uniform, and spoke with a vocabulary derived from both kingspeech and commonspeak. In that particular way, he seemed to represent the interests of rulers and commoners alike... acting as the Bridge between the classes.
"A fair evening to everyone hereabouts," he said aloud while his hands and eyes took to unpacking whatever "I realize these seasonal meetings are quite tedious for most of you, and likewise appreciate your commitment towards attendance. We'll push through our seminar as quickly as we can."
The class murmured with appreciation before collectively standing from their desks to raise their arms in salute and recite the Godsland pledge:
"For the greater good, and the Greater Gods."
The same Greater Gods who held discreet supremacy above the common deities. Their existence supplanted the teachings of all religions and paralleled the influence that Advisors imposed upon their assigned rulers. There was Rej Lajah, the Being of Light and Love. Vyius supplied worldly knowledge to the unworthy bipedal creation known as man... and there were many more. Strickland studied them thoroughly when he was first drafted to the Institute alongside daily instructions to memorize his daily prayers. And so he did; prayers that held no personal importance outside of proving his dedication to his sponsor, Sir Trephain, now deceased, who kept a close eye on him.
After Fairchild situated himself at his desk, he scanned the rows of desks for a few moments before settling on one person in particular.
"Chancellor Plackard," Fairchild began as he turned his attention to the broad-shouldered, emerald-cloaked minister. "Last we spoke, you presented some useful tidbits about King Artore's intentions towards the west mainlands."
Plackard nodded his confirmation. "That I did, Sir Fairchild."
"And if I recall correctly, your intelligence was acquired through Queen Amana? Your relationship with her is... ?"
"Ongoing," Plackard said flatly in response.
"Intimacy as a tool, everyone!" Fairchild's palm planted itself firmly on his desk as he scanned the faces that looked back towards him in full attention. "Manage it wherever you can. Learning by means of proxy is always preferable to stealth or surveillance. There is much truth to be mined and trust to be earned through affection."
Fairchild paused to allow his wisdom to settle before pivoting with a sullen look.
"Had Drake applied this tactic, he might still be with us."
And there it is, Strickland thought to himself. He supposed that broaching the subject was unavoidable, but it sapped the classroom's enthusiasm just the same.
Drake's actual fate was still uncertain, but he was arrested and tried as a traitor due to unknown reasons by the Renthal kingdom. Speculation was limited to an official execution, or worse.
...
The lesson, as Fairchild promised, passed rather quickly. Protocols were reviewed and recommendations received; Strickland was called upon once to disclose his notes pertaining to King Gerald; outside of his customary paranoia regarding his landlocked country, there was little else to report.
As the setting sun signaled the approaching end of class, Fairchild motioned for his students to wait before he pulled a small, ornate dagger from his belt and presented it to the classroom before him.
"As you know, your ceremonial daggers were commissioned to each and every of you for a very specific reason. By the Grace of the Great Gods, our positions have been respected and upheld across the great Terra, aside from the incidents in Rakana and Myrth.... and this latest tragedy with Drake." Again, the mood in the classroom seemed to suffer through the mention of his name.
"The Gods did not intend for us to suffer the sins of the kingdoms to which we preside." He then pulled a large sack from his satchel and handed it to Plackard.
"Good Chancellor, if you would please pass these off to everyone in the classroom."
Before long, every student held a small, corked vial with a bluish liquid.
"Snuff tonics," Fairchild announced with a calm gaze that found every set of eyes in the room. "Always have these on your person, and consume at once if your position is ever compromised. They will ensure a swift, painless, and bloodless death." The class remained quiet, but a wave of nervous expressions lifted across every face.
Fairchild's explanation seemed to add an extra heaviness to the vial that was clamped within Strickland's hand. Throughout his years of service to the Godsland Advisory Committee, there had never been an air of uncertainty... until now. Perhaps Fairchild knew something that the class didn't. Perhaps a change in the Grand Order was coming... something that even the Greater Gods were helpless to prevent.
The air seemed heavy with silence, and Fairchild seemed to retreat to the front of his desk. "Class dismissed," Fairchild finally said while forcing his attention to his satchel.
...
There were thirty-nine photographs showcased across the front wall of the classroom, all of them neatly arranged and oriented. Each photograph flaunted a large national flag with Fairchild hoisting one end and an utmost dignitary balancing the other above the ground. Each dignitary seemed to offer smiles that stretched across their faces... Monarchs, Emperors, and Presidents alike. To some the expressions of the dignitaries appeared almost coerced. To others they looked as children, forced to pose at behest of their parents.
Strickland was always the first to arrive at the Godsland Institute and habitually claimed a seat towards the back of the classroom. His official Post was stationed in Rescedan, a convenient three hour's journey away on horseback. The other Advisors would be traveling from every corner of the grand Terra; at least one representative per kingdom or state, sometimes two or three. Though they all shared a common duty and purpose, few were friends or acquaintances outside of their designated Posts. Strickland himself recognized faces and names of other Advisors but otherwise knew nothing of his classmates, aside from the stray strands of gossip that occasionally found their way to his ears.
The classroom filled quickly as the official time approached, and each of the sixty-three desks were accounted for as the class time arrived. There were military generals in full uniform, chancellors with colorful cloaks, and priestesses with flowing cloaks, amongst a variety of other officials. Strickland himself was dressed in a navy blue tunic that matched the royal color of the Rescedan flag. His amber eyes kindled against his tan skin, black hair, and the midnight attire he donned
Little chatter was heard amongst the attendees, and none of it rose above unintelligible whispers.
Finally, Fairchild arrived, always fashionably late by a five-to-ten minute window. He looked rather scrawny in comparison with the other males who sat in his classroom, with large round spectacles and a teardrop face, but his steely gray eyes imposed their own authority. He was always immaculately dressed with an admiral's uniform, and spoke with a vocabulary derived from both kingspeech and commonspeak. In that particular way, he seemed to represent the interests of rulers and commoners alike... acting as the Bridge between the classes.
"A fair evening to everyone hereabouts," he said aloud while his hands and eyes took to unpacking whatever "I realize these seasonal meetings are quite tedious for most of you, and likewise appreciate your commitment towards attendance. We'll push through our seminar as quickly as we can."
The class murmured with appreciation before collectively standing from their desks to raise their arms in salute and recite the Godsland pledge:
"For the greater good, and the Greater Gods."
The same Greater Gods who held discreet supremacy above the common deities. Their existence supplanted the teachings of all religions and paralleled the influence that Advisors imposed upon their assigned rulers. There was Rej Lajah, the Being of Light and Love. Vyius supplied worldly knowledge to the unworthy bipedal creation known as man... and there were many more. Strickland studied them thoroughly when he was first drafted to the Institute alongside daily instructions to memorize his daily prayers. And so he did; prayers that held no personal importance outside of proving his dedication to his sponsor, Sir Trephain, now deceased, who kept a close eye on him.
After Fairchild situated himself at his desk, he scanned the rows of desks for a few moments before settling on one person in particular.
"Chancellor Plackard," Fairchild began as he turned his attention to the broad-shouldered, emerald-cloaked minister. "Last we spoke, you presented some useful tidbits about King Artore's intentions towards the west mainlands."
Plackard nodded his confirmation. "That I did, Sir Fairchild."
"And if I recall correctly, your intelligence was acquired through Queen Amana? Your relationship with her is... ?"
"Ongoing," Plackard said flatly in response.
"Intimacy as a tool, everyone!" Fairchild's palm planted itself firmly on his desk as he scanned the faces that looked back towards him in full attention. "Manage it wherever you can. Learning by means of proxy is always preferable to stealth or surveillance. There is much truth to be mined and trust to be earned through affection."
Fairchild paused to allow his wisdom to settle before pivoting with a sullen look.
"Had Drake applied this tactic, he might still be with us."
And there it is, Strickland thought to himself. He supposed that broaching the subject was unavoidable, but it sapped the classroom's enthusiasm just the same.
Drake's actual fate was still uncertain, but he was arrested and tried as a traitor due to unknown reasons by the Renthal kingdom. Speculation was limited to an official execution, or worse.
...
The lesson, as Fairchild promised, passed rather quickly. Protocols were reviewed and recommendations received; Strickland was called upon once to disclose his notes pertaining to King Gerald; outside of his customary paranoia regarding his landlocked country, there was little else to report.
As the setting sun signaled the approaching end of class, Fairchild motioned for his students to wait before he pulled a small, ornate dagger from his belt and presented it to the classroom before him.
"As you know, your ceremonial daggers were commissioned to each and every of you for a very specific reason. By the Grace of the Great Gods, our positions have been respected and upheld across the great Terra, aside from the incidents in Rakana and Myrth.... and this latest tragedy with Drake." Again, the mood in the classroom seemed to suffer through the mention of his name.
"The Gods did not intend for us to suffer the sins of the kingdoms to which we preside." He then pulled a large sack from his satchel and handed it to Plackard.
"Good Chancellor, if you would please pass these off to everyone in the classroom."
Before long, every student held a small, corked vial with a bluish liquid.
"Snuff tonics," Fairchild announced with a calm gaze that found every set of eyes in the room. "Always have these on your person, and consume at once if your position is ever compromised. They will ensure a swift, painless, and bloodless death." The class remained quiet, but a wave of nervous expressions lifted across every face.
Fairchild's explanation seemed to add an extra heaviness to the vial that was clamped within Strickland's hand. Throughout his years of service to the Godsland Advisory Committee, there had never been an air of uncertainty... until now. Perhaps Fairchild knew something that the class didn't. Perhaps a change in the Grand Order was coming... something that even the Greater Gods were helpless to prevent.
The air seemed heavy with silence, and Fairchild seemed to retreat to the front of his desk. "Class dismissed," Fairchild finally said while forcing his attention to his satchel.
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