Czar Mirkov Tirantov
An unlikely ruler thrust into power.
Prologue: Wrath of the Father.
Chapter 1.
(SKIP TO PART 1 TO GET ALL THE KNOWLEDGE NECESSARY FOR THE RP.)
"This same immobile rock our ancestors have struggled with for centuries."
The Czar and the rest of his advisers sitting in the Czar's briefing room looked to the General of the Royal Armed Forces, the venerable Duke Ratchev Turinshuk. The aged man, adorned in his regal dress uniform, pondered seriously on the topic of the debate: forcing the end of this war with the Gorasmert, the mountain dwellers in rebellion against the Kingdom. The duke paused as he gathered his thoughts,"They are getting bolder, their terms of peace are much steeper than what we expected. We had taken thirty kilometers of land from them before the truce was signed! They should be desperate to end this."The court steward, Dmitri Zhviyom, a slight man with a nervous personality, spoke up,"--Yes! And we should be as well. Our refineries are running out of raw materials to process... and our factories are running out of refined materials to construct ship parts with. The economy is worse than it has been in a century, some plants have told workers to just go home entirely... We need to end this war and get back control of the mines, no matter how much they ask for! A-a partial autonomy would be fine, they could be a country within a country--"
The brash internal affairs minister, Petya Radnir, spoke up firmly, all eyes drawing to him,"And for what? That means they'll be able to barter for more rights to the ore they mine, less for the Kingdom! The next time we go through this whole thing, they'll go from partial autonomy to full independence! We'll just be trading some breathing room for none for our grand children. We would be tying a noose and hanging it up in the closet for later!"
The men began to bicker amongst themselves, as others began to join in. The Czar sat up in his seat and placed his right hand on the table, the simple gesture causing all eyes to fall on him. Mirkov looked towards them all with an annoyed face of disappointment,"Brothers, brothers... this is enough." The levelheaded leader of the Czardom brought his hand back to his chair. "I will agree with Dmitri, we are indeed in a desperate situation. And as Duke-General Ratchev said, our fathers have faced this opponent time and time again. How many times have they beaten us?" He paused to let the rhetorical question sink in. "There will be no more peace treaties in their favor. The mountaineers have never been able to understand this simple fact: We cannot exist without them, they cannot exist without us. To be fair, they do have a solution for this: to sell their souls to the greater Galactic powers in exchange for their bare necessities. But it is not our duty to educate them on the consequences that come with this, but to make them subject to the crown just as every other man woman and child on this planet is."
The Czar paused to let anyone speak, but as expected no one dared to cut in. "We may have to import the materials from outer rim locations to supply our factories, we will scrape the barrel if necessary. Petya, let Warlord Voynatebya know that we will only accept unconditional surrender. If not, we will wait out the truce period and commence our--" A knock came from the door behind them, they all turned their attention away from the table towards the ornate door.
The it was opened by the two royal guards from the outside, and the Czar's younger brother, Duke Vasya, and the Czar's firstborn son, Tsarevich Kirill, entered the room. They were both dressed in their formal attire, which perplexed the Czar to a degree. He rose from his seat, his constantly stern visage eased by his brother and his son. He embraced his brother,"Vasya, my little brother... You know how to intrude on me at my worst times. If I hadn't known any better I'd say you were a Jedi! Two decades ago it was studying for my medical exams, now while I am meeting with my advisers. What brings you, my beloved brother? And why is the Tsarevich here?"
The Czar raised an eyebrow towards his son,"What are you up to, Kirill? You should be with your tutor." The Duke smiled and cut his brother off,"Mirkov, it is okay, I told the tutor I'd take him. The opera is showing my favorite,'The Tragedy of Pomnilov!' I remembered the Tsarevich told me last winter saying he'd love to go to an opera show, so I promised him I'd take him to my favorite one first some day. By my favorite acting troupe as well!" The Czar furrowed his brows at his little brother,"Vasya.. he is behind on his studies, did he not tell you that?" The teenaged Tsarevich spoke up,"Father, please. Uncle Vasya is just fulfilling his promise!" Vasya spoke up before the Czar could reprimand his son,"Mirkov, a Czar who knows only maths and sciences is just a scientist with a crown, he must be a man of culture, of his peoples' culture!"
Mirkov let out a disarming sigh, glancing between the two sympathetically. "Could it be you are a little... reluctant?" Vasya teased. The Czar looked away, trying to contain a smile, placing his hand over his mouth and shaking his head in disapproval of the terrible joke. He looked back to Vasya with the smallest hint of a smile, slapping his brother's shoulder. "Very well. Take him, but he must come back as soon as its done! And my young Tsarevich, this means you will have to meet with the tutor on his day off as well!" He wagged a finger towards the young teen, the boy nodding and smiling slightly,"Thanks father! I will!" The Czar embraced his brother, and then his eldest son, kissing him on the head affectionately,"Take it all in, the pride of our people, our culture. Your uncle, the silver tongued devil, speaks truthfully. You need this more than you know, perhaps even moreso than the science and maths. Enjoy it, both of you."
The Czar turned back to his patiently waiting advisers, his smile fading from him quickly. "Now, gentlemen, I think we've addressed everything. Petya will inform the warlord his offers of peace have no standing, we will import ores temporarily from the outer rim, and in three weeks when the truce ends we will start the offensive. That is all. Thank you all for attending." A few holograms tuned out, and the advisers got up and went out the door, discussing the business of the nation amongst themselves quietly.
(TL;DR, the nation is in dire economic straights, if the rebels do not surrender and give back their mineral rich mining lands soon, all the nation's factories will come to a halt.)
Chapter 2.
Two hours later.
The Czar stood in his personal study, overlooking the snow-covered Royal district. His hands were clasped behind him in the typical aristocratic stature, considering the desperate situation of his country. The war would need to be short, his nerve-wracked minister of economic affairs was more correct than he'd like to have admitted in front of everyone. Unfortunately for the Czar, he didn't have the luxury of living in his emotions as some at the table did. His was always a statue, his face the same chiseled serious frown. Only family seemed to be able to erode it away, but even then not by much. He shook his head and thought,"Where are the men of my grandfather's time? My advisers can only say we are here because of our ancestor's sins. But I look out over our great land and see an inheritance we have failed to maintain. A mansion left to wicked and drunken sons." His thoughts were cut off by his personal holocommunicator blinking on his desk. He turned and picked it up, seeing it was his son calling. It must be the halfway point of the show. He clicked it on and smiled slightly in preparation to see his son. He saw his son's face, anxious and eyes darting about. He heard a faint yelling in the background, supposing that it was a part of the opera.
"Father--father!" The boy hoarsely whispered into the holocommunicator. The Czar furrowed his brows,"Kirill, what are you doing? Are you talking to me during the bloody ope--" His son cut him off,"Father, there are masked men here! They have--" He turned his head as a brassy voice screamed in the background, giving orders. "They've overpowered the guards, they're everywhere! Father, help! Uncle Vasya is--" Another loud yell emitted from off screen followed by a single blaster shot, and the holocommunicator cut out. The Czar turned a shade paler than what was even known possible to the pale subhuman race.
He dropped the holocommunicator, and reached under his desk for the button to call in his guards, when the double doors to his study burst open. Petya Radnir and Duke-General Ratchev stormed in, Petya calling out,"Your Highness, there's a situation at the Bymil Opera House that needs your--" The Czar cut him off curtly,"I know... My son just called me. How many are there?" Petya swallowed, not knowing how to answer. The General took over,"Live holotapes reveal atleast 15, your highness." The Czar nodded, his usual disarming calmness now a eerie facade. "Cetnika are on the scene?" The general quickly replied,"No, Your Highness, they will be there and ready to insert in half an hour. The Imperiyagorodnya Municipality is responding currently, just quarantining the area and trying to see their demands."
The Czar nodded again slowly, speaking as if he hadn't heard what the general just said. "My son is there." The general reassured him,"Your Highness, they will not touch him, they know--" The Czar raised his hand and the general stopped himself short. "I must speak with my wife. She'll be here any second. Leave us until the Cetnika have arrived or the situation changes drastically. You do nothing without my knowledge and consent." He sat down into his chair slowly, his eyes fixated on the official photo at his desk of him and his entire family at his coronation as the Czar, eyes focused solely on his eldest son. The two quickly left, and just as they exited, the Tsaritsa, in her casual dress, tears streaming down her face, approached the doors. She paused to look at the two, before quickly turning away and rushing into the study. The guards shut the door behind her.
The Czar sat motionless as his wife ran towards him and threw herself onto him, he took her instinctively and reassured her. A lie. There was no time to cry, his son was still alive, he was a Tirantov, a ruler. His voice attempted to sooth his wife, while his mind focused solely on getting his boy back.
(TL;DR, the Czar's son has been caught up in a rebel attack on the Opera house.)Chapter Three.
Thirty two minutes later.
A rapping came from the door, the Czar looked up from his chair, still holding his wife in his arms, who was now silently sobbing. He picked her up and set her on her feet, telling her in a hushed voice,"I will get him back now, it will be alright, but I need you to go to the children. I need you to be strong." She sniffed loudly, nodding her head and wiping her tears away. She straightened out her hair, and rolled her head, taking her proud, defiant, royal stance. For a woman who had been married into royalty, she knew how to act like a queen. She made her way out the door, her face blank, still wet from tears, as she passed by the General, the internal affairs minister, and a gruff looking man in combat gear and a black beret. The three approached the Czar at his desk. The general spoke at once,"Sir, this is Colonel Radovan Morkoff, commander of Cetnika Gruppa Alfa. He's here to brief you on the situation in its entirety." The colonel saluted the Czar sharply, and the Czar rose to his feet and returned it. "Colonel. Let us see."
The colonel nodded and pulled out his holopad, clicking on it and pointing it towards the hologram project in the center of the room. The ceiling mounted projector showed a large hologram of the opera schematics. "Your Highness, the rebels are confirmed as 17 Gorasmert separatists. The Warlord claims they are a schismatic group from his rebel cell, and he did not give them the approval to do this action, regardless, they're his." The Czar balled up a fist, his eyes wide with fury as he brought his fist to his mouth.
"Some recon was conducted with mouse droids before they threatened killing hostages if they saw another. We gathered this much: everyone is centralized in the theater's bottom floor with bombs surrounding the theater and on all the support beams. We can assume they're deadman switched, can't confirm however.
"Your brother, Duke Vasya, and his family were the original target. It seems they figured out your brother's love of Opera, and knew he would be here. But they were not expecting your son to be in attendance... Which explains their demands:" He cleared his throat and read from his holopad,"We have the heir to the throne in captivity, unless the craven Czar wishes to sacrifice his child for the cruel cause that sacrifices our children to false freedoms and slavery, we demand immediate recognition of the Kholodniy Seraya mountain ranges as an independent nation with a peace treaty signed with the Galactic community as witness. For every day that our demands are not met, we will kill a tenth of the theater. On the tenth day, the Czar's son and his brother will die with the rest."
The Czar closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nostrils, exhaled and opened his eyes,"And how are we going to save these people, my brother and my boy?" The commander clicked on the holopad again,"We will use an anaesthetic, Dripylmine, and flood it rapidly into the entire theater. It will put everyone to sleep, and we will be kicking the doors down within minutes. Priority is the Tsarevich, the Duke and his family, and everyone else. Terrorists will be secured, and we will send in the bomb team." The Czar nodded,"And how much of the waking agent do you have?" The commander quirked a brow,"Sir?"
The Czar's fingers extended from his fist to over his face, an uneasy silence coming over the room. The Czar turned suddenly and swept his desk, slamming his fist down several times into the desk so hard he left a visible dent, his knuckles bleeding profusely. He turned to face all of them at once, yelling, screaming for perhaps the first time any of them had ever heard. "INCOMPETENCE!" His lower lip curled upward, his furious gaze turning to each of them as he pointed his finger, greyish-blue blood dripping from his trembling hand. "IN-COMPETENCE!" They all stood in a silent shock, as the Czar pulled a kerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his hand down, turning away from them again. The general spoke up,"Your Highness?"
The Czar immediately perceived their confusion, and turned towards them,"Dripylmine, yes. It will put them out in seconds, they won't be able to even tell what's going on before they hit the ground. But they need respirators to breathe on it, and they need--" He turned away and picked up the large ornate desk, flinging it over with the sudden, surprising strength of an enraged father. "RAAAAAAAGH! THE WAKING! AGENT!... DRAHNTHENOL!" He turned back towards them again,"Or they will SUFFOCATE! Within ten minutes." He panted hard, glaring each of them down.
The Cetnika commander, used to responding to high stress situations, took over for the other two speechless men. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I'm sure my medical team was already tracking that but didn't inform me of the specifics. I will double check that we have it, and then we will execute with your permission." The Czar balled up his right fist, and pulled it in towards his chest, massaging it briefly with his other hand. He nodded, coming back to his senses, his cool and calm persona that they were accustomed to returning to him. "Yes... I... apologize for the outburst, gentlemen... Even a Czar has his weaknesses." He shook his head, internally chastising himself for breaking his royal composure. "You have my approval, Colonel. When you are ready, execute." The Colonel nodded and looked towards the general and the internal adviser, who turned to walk with him out of the study.
The Czar remained, staring down the hologram of the opera house, his mind lost in thought.
(TL;DR, the special forces response plan is briefed to the Czar, demands are given to the Czar for his unconditional surrender.)
Chapter Four.
Fifty minutes later.
Mirkov stood perfectly still, watching the display screen built into the wall of his study. He clenched his bandaged right fist and brought it to his mouth, watching the situation play out before him. He was viewing from the perspective of a surveillance speeder high above the opera, seeing all the local police, military, and special forces gathered around the building. It was night now, the entire street had been blacked out except for the police speeders, armored cars, and army fighter craft pointing their spotlights into all the windows of the opera house. He watched as the camera flicked to night vision, and he saw the special forces teams dropped off onto the roof by a speeder with several tanks of the anesthetic, as well as a couple teams inserting into both alleyways on either side of the opera house.
They began pumping the anesthetic tanks directly into the air vents. Several men in special forces gear formed up around the front entrance, the side, some rappelling down the side quietly ready to breach from balconies. A silent go ahead was given, and the gasmasked men breached from all sides. Stun grenades went off, making the screen flash a bright green. The police scanner stated over the live video,"All teams are in. Municipalities standing by." Mirkov closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, before opening them again and forcing himself to watch. "Shots fired. Single blast went off." The Czar's heart sunk and his blood ran cold. "Multiple shots, there's a firefight going on."
The Czar turned and grabbed his greatcoat off the coat hanger, rushing through his study and yelling,"Get me my personal guard and my speeder, I need to get down to the opera house!" In the background the police speeder blurted,"Bomb team is going in, all personnel clear the opera house, clear the opera house!"
12 minutes later.
The speeder touched down at the police line, which had been extended a good three hundred meters down the street away from the opera house. The Czar stepped out at once with his armored and augmented Royal Guard attache, his speeder keeping its engine running incase there was a need of a quick evac for the Czar. Trudging through the snow, Mirkov stepped up to the commander on site, as every police officer on the deck turned to salute. The Czar returned the salute to them all, putting on a brave face,"You are all serving the nation well today. We will see the end to this shortly."
Reaching the commander, he asked him quietly,"Commander, what's the situation?" The commander saluted and stated firmly,"Your Highness! The Cetnika breached ten minutes ago, there were some shots fired and the bomb team was called in during the firefight. We were pulled back due to bomb protocol. The firefight we heard stopped about four minutes ago." The Czar nodded. "And the evacuation?" The policeman swallowed nervously,"Your Highness, that is up to the Cetnika to determine it's secure before evacuation. They're administering the waking agent, but they must make sure all the threats are neutralized before they let them go." The Czar nodded. "Have they said anything about the Tsarevich?"
The commander opened his mouth to speak, when he pressed a finger to the radio barking in his ear. He made a grand gesture with his arms suddenly and began to yell,"Area is clear, the bombs are active and could go off! They're letting anyone who can walk out! Cetnika are looking for the Duke and the Tsarevich, all civilians who can walk are cleared to leave to the police line! Anyone who's brave enough, follow me, move to evacuate the unconscious NOW!"
The Czar broke forward in a quick stride down the street. His four guards stood in a tight square formation around the Czar, brandishing high tech blaster assault rifles. Medical personnel, police, and people who were just standing by were rushing past him. One his guards spoke up,"Your Highness, we mustn't get too close, the bomb team has not given the all clear!" The Czar didn't respond, and only began to jog, then break into a run. Small groups of wealthy civilians began to make their way down the marble stairs of the opera house. The four guards raised their rifles to point into the air, and simply made sure the Czar could get through unmolested. None of them in their panic to get away realized who the Czar was, nor did they probably care. The Czar began to yell,"KIRILL! VASYA!" as they passed the small groups. The guards joined in yelling for the Tsarevich and the Duke, but to no avail. The whole crowd passed them after a couple of minutes, and they now had reached the steps of the opera house. Another one of the guards attempted to stop the reckless father,"Your Highness, it could be possible they were in the crowd."
The Czar began to make his way up the steps,"Then someone will tell us when they reach the police line." The Czar barged in through the doors which had been left ajar in the frantic fleeing of the theater goers. He noticed a black scorch mark where the stun grenade had landed, shattered glass, a display vase knocked over. It was a scene of organized chaos as people filed past him, carrying out the unconscious and wounded. He moved past the ticketing area and began to see black scorch marks on the walls. He tried to ignore them, moving onwards. He stepped over a couple of corpses of the terrorists, both wearing gasmasks. Medical personnel and police carrying the unconscious streamed past the Czar so tight he was jostled back and forth by his guards closing in around him. A voice yelled from the theater,"MEDICAL: ADMINISTER THE WAKING AGENT IN THE STREET, AND MOVE THEM TO THE CORDON!"
Mirkov walked past a couple of bomb squad officers working to defuse a bomb strapped to a support beam, they both looked up at the Czar and did a double take as he strode past them. He stepped into theater, seeing many people still unconscious strewn about in chairs and on the floor. The Czar yelled,"WHERE IS MY SON?!" The theater went quiet, as the Czar stepped into the theater, repeating himself. "Where is my boy?!" His voice quivered with a determined anger. One of the Cetnikas, walked up to the Mirkov and said in a calm but urgent voice,"Your Highness, follow me." Mirkov followed the man, his heart pounding in his ears. His mind thought of the worse. Why won't they just tell him where he is?
The Cetnika led him up a small spiral staircase towards the best seats in the house, the balcony seats. He was ascending towards the third level balconies but he felt like he was descending to hell. He exited the staircase into a hallway, as the special forces soldier led him towards a pair of ornate wooden doors left ajar. Two Royal guards lay dead on either side of the doors. The Cetnika looked back to the Czar, while he was wearing a balaclava his eyes gave away everything. The Czar pushed past him into the doorway. He entered the large balcony, immediately seeing Vasya, and his family, his wife and three children, slain in a pile together behind the seats. The Czar stopped in his tracks, seeing his baby brother, his beloved wife, two nieces and nephew in such a way shattered his very soul. He clasped his hands over his mouth, letting out a pained scream that again made the theater silent.
He looked over the horrible sight and muttered,"But where is Kirill? Where is my boy?" The Cetnika grabbed him by the shoulder,"Sir, please, let's go. Let's go." The Czar forced himself to turn away, as one of his Royal Guard spoke up,"Your Highness..." And directed him just a few feet ahead, in front of the seats. There were a special forces men standing at the end of the balcony, their hands covered in gunmetal grey Czelosmertian blood, standing over a body laid on a stretcher. He was arrayed in formal dress attire that had been ripped open during the medical procedure, two glaring blaster holes in the figure's torso, and a black beret was laid over his face out of respect. All sorts of bloody, used up medical equipment and materials lay discarded next to the stretcher. They had done all they could.
Everything went silent. A piercing silence, Mirkov could only hear a deafening ringing. He knelt down next to the corpse and set it on his knees. His hand trembled as he took the beret. He let out an exasperated sigh, muttering something incoherently as he shook his head, tears streaming down his face. It took all his strength to remove the beret, and when he did he wished he never had. It was his boy. Kirill. His firstborn. He slowly curled the boy's head inward to his chest and knelt over, trembling with anguish. He never wanted his life of being the heir. He was a simple, humble boy, compassionate, even towards the Gorasmert who wanted him dead. Innocent even in his late teens. That's the last thing Mirkov remembered before he was completely broken. The same people who murdered Kirill, Kirill wanted to help when he was Czar. Mirkov had attempted to stamp out this line of thinking, but he never could.
Mirkov lifted his head from his boy's chest, his face stuck in a horrific, silent scream. His lungs rasped at last and took in a quick breath of air, as Mirkov let out a terrible, almost inhuman, wail of agony and fury. It was a scream so terrible, it turned even the hardened soldiers' blood to ice. The broken man's exhausted his lungs, his eyes fluttered, and he collapsed onto the floor, his dead child still in his arms.
(TL;DR, the Czar's son and brother's whole family has been murdered during the breach.)
Chapter 5.
Three days later.
The quiet leader sat across from Colonel Radovan as he gave his debrief on the opera. He was dressed in black, having just came back from Kirill's funeral. His typical stern, unrevealing visage had been replaced by one of despondency and lack of sleep. They were again in their study, looking over some scrolling pictures of the post-operation via the holoprojector. Standing next to the Colonel was the internal affairs minister Petya and the Duke-General Ratchev, but they were not there to listen in on the brief. They had been hounding the Czar constantly, insinuating his should abdicate, and let the council run the country. Mirkov was growing tired of their insistence. The tired man forced his attention back on the Colonel. He appreciated men like Radovan. Simple, men of duty, of action. They didn't 'suggest' or 'persuade.' They spoke directly. So, as it had turned out, the terrorists had gasmasks, but they were not wearing them at the time of their insertion. When one of them noticed the hostages were slumping over and passing out, he raised the alarm, but only a few could get their masks on in time. Three, to be exact. Two held the main entrance way while the one escaped up the stairs to find the terrorists guarding the Czar's relatives out cold.
He didn't act to save his life, to use the hostages as a bargaining chip. He fired on them in cold blood, and exited the balcony room to go fight the Cetnika breachers. He was killed less than a minute later. The Cetnika reached the balcony, but they didn't expect the royals to be segregated from the general populace. Vasya and his family had died instantly. Kirill... The Colonel spared the broken man how long he had held on for.
The Colonel wrapped up his briefing,"Total casualties are... forty four dead... thirteen killed in the firefight, thirty one suffocated before the waking agent could be administered. Fifty with various wounds, with nine still in critical condition." Mirkov shook his head, placing it in his hands. "I'm sorry, Your Highness." Mirkov looked up, and stood slowly from his chair. "Everything that occurred... it was a matter of circumstance. Your men did as they were trained. Three of them did their best to save my boy, I know. The fault lies on the criminals." The man turned and paced towards his desk,"And these terrorists, where are they from?" The Colonel, expecting this, replied immediately,"Not all of them are 'compliant,' but a few have admitted they are from the Warlord's faction. They say they were under his orders." Mirkov brought his bandaged fist up to his mouth, gritting his teeth and claming his eyes shut. He eased his countenance and turned back towards them. He channeled his anger into a royal purpose, regaining his Czar-like qualities at once.
"Petya, tell the Warlord the truce conditions have changed." The stout internal affairs minister quirked a brow, looking between the Colonel and the Duke-General. "I want his unconditional surrender by the end of the truce period, or I will inflict on him a pain worse than what he has dealt me." The internal affairs minister paused,"Uh... Your Highness, he denies that these men were under his--" The Czar cut him off immediately, raising his voice,"I know what he claims, -Petya-! I don't believe him. That kind of organization, that level of training and tactics, and supply... They're not 'schismatics' as he claims. He's trying to frighten us, don't you see?! You release a few men to act as a 'rogue element' who go off 'on their own' to the heart of the capital... It is a carefully constructed lie." The internal affairs minister reaffirmed himself,"Your Highness, this whole tragedy is affecting you greatly. Perhaps you should let the General and I--"
The Czar's eyes widened and he strode up towards Petya, his face a mere inches from his. "Do you wish to be a Czar, minister?" Petya said nothing, only returning the stare. The Czar turned to the General,"I'm tired of you people acting like wolves waiting for this great beast to finally roll over and die so you can pull apart the carcass." He made a grand gesture to himself at the word 'beast.' The Czar acknowledged to them blankly,"My son is dead. My younger brother and his family are dead. Am I not allowed to grieve, to mourn? You all should know, if you want to take this crown from me, that it is a heavy burden to bear. I am not -allowed- to grieve, to show emotion, or any hint of weakness. I cannot spend time with my wife or children, nor even for myself. My day, from before sunrise to after sunset, is at the nation's whim. You, my closest associates, should know that a CZAR does not have the time nor the luxury to spend his weekends drinking at the nobility socials!" Petya turned his face away, a frown creeping across it. "And he does not spend his whole day reveling in 'days gone by,' and his war stories to the 'nice women' in the underworld clubs!" The General pursed his lips and turned his chin upwards slightly.
Colonel Radovan quirked a curious brow towards the two, placing his hands behind his back and turning his head away as he admired a painting on the wall. The Czar walked over to his desking, picking up the crown that he wore at the funeral earlier, turning and offering it to them both. "Here. Take it. Take it and I will coronate you both here myself with Colonel Radovan as our witness. Take this burden from me so I can be the father I need to be for my family." He held out the crown to them for an excruciatingly long period of time, making his point known. He lowered the crown slowly,"Then it appears my pardon from this punishment has been denied." He sighed, setting the crown aside. "Za Zhilaseraya," he said softly, making up for his sardonic comment with an affirmation of his love for the nation.
There was a long pause between all of them as the Czar contemplatively looked down at the crown. Still looking at it, he spoke up,"Petya, tell the Warlord the truce conditions have changed. He will surrender unconditionally, or he will be repaid in full for this attack. Tell the cave dwelling mongrel that he will only here these new conditions in full if he contacts me directly. Deliver a government holocommunicator to him with contact info to my direct line. Tell him nothing else." Petya furrowed his brows,"And what are these new conditions, Czar Mirkov?" Mirkov's ears perked up, detecting a hint of annoyance in his voice, and turned to face Petya. His blank, calm face revealed nothing about his intentions,"Ones that will break this cycle. Now leave the General and I, we must discuss a new plan for the end-of-truce offensive." Colonel Radovan saluted and powered the holoprojector down, leaving the room. Petya had no response for this, he got the message that it would not be revealed to him. "Very well... But, sir, you must know the reason we have been prying you to set aside the crown for atleast a while is because the people are convinced you are too..." He paused to find the right words,"Grieved, and cannot perform as Czar for the moment. At the very least, you must speak to them, they have always been at ease when you spoke."
The Czar's expression changed from an expressionless one to one of absolute, genuine exhaustion and despondency.
"I am so tired of words, Petya."
The internal affairs minister, shocked at this uncharacteristic response, furrowed his brows further and nodded slowly. His eyes darted off into a corner as he was in deep thought, turning and leaving the general behind with the Czar to discuss the offensive plan.
(TL;DR, the Czar is debriefed on what exactly went wrong during the rescue attempt and orders his advisers to set the stage for new end of truce conditions with the Warlord and his faction.)
Chapter 6.
Two days later.
POMNILOV CASTS HIS JESTER'S CROWN ASIDE, AND RIPS HIS FOOL'S OUTFIT DOWN THE CHEST, APPROACHING HIS BROTHER'S GRAVE.
"How tragic and how relieving it is, that one should die with their innocence. For they were too pure in heart to deserve it, for having never committed evil to deserve it, they still died. But having passed so pure, they never lived to see suffering, struggle, or hopelessness... They never died the first and true death: the blackening of the soul."POMNILOV WEEPS AND EMBRACES HIS BROTHER'S GRAVE. DIM LIGHTS SLOWLY TO TOTAL DARKNESS. CURTAIN DRAW.
Mirkov stood alone in the Tsarevich's room, staring into the open page of the playbook laying on the desk, The Tragedy of Pomnilov, the very same the Tsarevich had gone to a week earlier. His eyes reread the same final quote by the downtrodden clown over and over. He tore himself away from the playbook, closing it and turning to look around the room. Everything was just as it had been when the Tsarevich had left his studies to go to the opera. The Czar and his wife made sure of that. It was an unspoken agreement. He sat down on the bed, and picked up a picture frame set up on the nightstand to inspect it. It was last winter's royal family ball. The whole family smiled, even Mirkov, sitting together, surrounding by happy relatives. Mirkov smirked, remembering the day. His boy was a true Czelosmertian. Family before all. Suddenly, Mirkov's holocommunicator began to beep. The Czar looked down to his breast pocket, setting the frame aside carefully and taking the holocommunicator.
It was from the Warlord. The Czar sighed heavily through his nostrils, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them and nodding his head. He stood, clicking the holocommunicator on and tossing it onto the floor. It whirred, and a static ridden hologram of the Warlord stood before him. His name was fitting, he stood wearing traditional heavy mountain clothing with body armor, and a firearm slung over his shoulder. His beard was the only thing well kept, the smudges of dirt and mud on his clothing and body were evident even through the poor connection.
"Voynatebya. You've finally decided to hear the new terms." The warlord scoffed, crossing his arms,"No, 'your highness,' I've come to tell you just what I've been telling your spineless envoys: these men were not under my command. They rebelled from me, I banished for being too reckless and extreme! I understand you have lost a son, and your brother, but this was not my doing. As a result, my demands for the truce still stand: the Kholodniya Seraya mountains will be autonomous, and I will be their Duke." The Czar lowered his head condescendingly and quirked a brow,"Duke, eh? I didn't take you for one to have such a taking to a royal system of government."
The gruff rebel smirked, making grand gestures as he insulted Zhilaseraya,"You and I both know this will be purely figurative. What I seek is total independence from your despotic regime, we will achieve it either by waiting diplomatically, or continuing this war to the end." The Czar nodded,"Ofcourse. I do agree with one thing you've said, my envoys being spineless, because perhaps they didn't tell you: I know you're lying. I know this is just a cover, and a clever ploy all in the same. Make the people lose their courage and will, because if a group of disconnected, excommunicated rebels can enact such a terrible attack on our nation, perhaps we're not ready to fight this war. Not to mention, you can't be brought on any war crime trials by the parasitic 'politicians' of the Galactic powers you supplicate yourself to."
The warlord chuckled,"And what? You can't prove this regardless." The Czar's face remained blank,"I am like all men before me. I am fair, but harsh. Your men held two hundred people, my son and brother and his family, hostage. Now: I hold you your whole rebel nation hostage." The warlord narrowed his eyes. "Your animalistic, barbaric 'banished' rebels, instead of negotiating for escape or their lives with my boy's, took him from me instead."
The Czar's eyes glowered with hatred as he turned his face downward. "This is what I realize now about your people. You are animals. You only think how to inflict pain on us in the worst ways. We are tied down and constantly investigated by these hypocritical little senators and war crimes officials you keep throwing at us from behind the diplomatic curtain. But you, you and your men are free to do as they please. You are a pet of the Galactic powers." The warlord glared, speaking up,"You're mad!" The Czar rose his voice in response, pointing at the warlord accusingly,"YOU KILLED YOUR BEST CHANCE, WARLORD." The Czar raised his head to the sky and closed his eyes,"My boy always spoke of a true, lasting peace of our people. Something I painfully tried to take away from him: his compassion and love for his fellow Czelosmertian. I was even beginning to believe, through him, that there was a hope for the end of this planet's suffering. A true unification, not the many false ones that our fathers have signed so many times in the past..." The father looked back into the hologram's eyes,"But he was murdered by the very people he wanted so desperately to help." The warlord, slowly becoming more angered, asked incredulously,"And why have you 'summoned' me then, to talk to me? I am not your therapist, czar."
The Czar continued,"To tell you these terms: I have targeted a village of my choosing in rebel controlled territory for destruction. If you do not surrender by the end of the truce period, I will destroy it in its entirety." The warlord's face contorted into pure rage,"You're truly mad! The Galactic community will crucify you just for this threat alone!" Mirkov's calm facade gave way to one of pure vitriolic hatred, placing a foot forward and pointing at him again,"YOU TOOK MY BOY. YOU TOOK MY BOY, YOU BASTARD!" The Czar did not give him a chance to speak, continuing,"So go and RUN TO YOUR OWNERS, PET! And I will tell them this: on Zhilaseraya, when a dog bites your child, you put -down- the dog!" The warlord began to return to screaming, just as the Czar cut the communications immediately.
The Czar stood panting heavily, staring down at the holocommunicator on the ground. He readjusted his casual attire, bent over to pick up the communicator, and left the room.
