The Super Robot As Heroic Icon

The Super Robot, as a concept in fiction, uses the same narrative structure as a superhero. This also means that its roots are the same: mythology. The biggest icon of Super Robots--Mazinger Z--explicitly acknoledges this fact at multiple levels. The name means "Devil God", the catchphrase is "I can be a god or a devil" (refering to the robot's power being subordinate to the pilot's morality), the origin story involves Ancient Greece, several villains are re-imagined gods or monsters (not just Greek), and the 2009 retelling (Shin Mazinger Z: The Impact!) even has Zeus appear as both an ally and a material source of the title robot's power (coupled with the fictional Unobtanium power source, Photo Power).

You see similar use of mythological motifs, themes, etc. with all of the successful and enduring Super Robot properties. It's not just because they were early; Tetsujin 28 was even earlier, but nowhere near the juggernaught status that Mazinger Z attained. No, it's because they embraced the mythological roots and used them to tell as powerful a story as they could. In time, Super Robots attained an iconic status that few Real Robots match- and one of those Reals, the RX-78 Gundam, is a retooled Super design.

The Super Robot is not a prototype for a mass production design. The Super Robot is not a customized machine for an ace pilot. The Super Robot is a heroic icon in its own right, and the pilots that sit in its cockpit are the partners it has in executing its core mission. In this respect, the Super Robot is a technological manifestation of the Iconic Hero and his Core Ethos: Mazinger Z is the premiere warrior defending Mankind from the evil traitor Dr. Hell and his horde of Mechanical Beasts (or later the reborn Mycenian Empire under the Great General of Darkness). Getter Robo is the Champion of Life against all that oppose it and its chosen species: Man. Grendizer is a Superman figure defending Earth from the aliens that destroyed his homeworld. You get the picture.

If you think this would not be willfully wielded for deliberate effect, you would be sadly mistaken. If you then think this cannot be so used for good ends, you're doubly-mistaken.

In the far future of Galactic Christendom, this knowledge was not lost.

The Church, knowing how Mankind thinks, used breakthroughs made in the City of God to make real the fictional Super Robot of pre-Cataclysm popular culture. This was not a thing done out of whole cloth. It was a new form of the same use of iconography and psychology that lead to the early post-Cataclysm efforts to contact survivor communities and begin to knit them back into a greater whole, originally called "Project Gandalf (after the Wizards of Middle-Earth and their mission).

As the Dark Lords revealed their true forms and more of the Nephilim stepped out of the shadows, the pre-Flood abominations also stepped out and the survivors--and later, their children and grand-children--saw things in terms dervived from pre-Cataclysm entertainment: Kaiju, Titans, Mutants, Dragons. It took time for the legendarium of old to reassert itself, and as destruction is swifter than healing the Church had to use the language at hand to deal with the issue.

Giants require giant-slayers. Monsters require monster-slayers. Terrifying monsters require heroic warriors to slay them, and--and this is critical--be seen doing it. Men need to be reminded generation after generation that monsters can be slain by ordinary men because there is a constant flow of new generations that come forth and need to witness this truth to comprehend it. Heroic icons, therefore, have a lawful purpose on multiple levels.

This is why the Super Robots exist, and why they are so powerful: they are the heroic icons that go forth to face the monsters that threaten Mankind.

The breed of men that mount up, get in the cockpit, and go forth must be the very best available and not just in strength of limb, but of heart and soul also. Those men made the difference with the early models of Super Robot, and as the reconquest of Earth turned into the Liberation Crusades that pushed the enemy off-world and then out of the solar system the model for not only the Star Knights but of the various noble houses was made and struck.

The Super Robots would go on to become the icons of noble houses, giving them an anchor for the identity of entire nations. They would define the Church's elite heroes. They would be more than just great war machines, but achieve the full morale-boosting power and narrative weight that their iconic status enabled- and so would those chosen to pilot them.

Crisis at Garmil's Gate - 17

Aboard the Opulent Dragon, Lord Fang looked out from inside the brig at the proxy holding him for his master.

"How long until the Duke arrives?" Fang said.

"Not soon enough." Ramsey said, looking back, "You would be wise to start confessing now."

"Not that it matters." Fang said, head low, "If Dashing Jack sold me out, then he's got to be close to his objective, so it's not likely that you or the Duke could do anything about it now."

Ramsey quietly pressed a key on his gauntlet. "Go on."

"The prison, Paladin. You know it's there."

"It's said to be a colony for the worst sorts, yet for whatever reason cannot be executed."

"True, from a certain point of view. Yet all of the traffic to and from the surface consists of Mining Guild vessels moving ore up and supplies down, or nobles visiting retreats with their entourages. When was the last time you saw anything other than scheduled warden changeovers go to or from that prison?"

In his earpiece Ramsey heard Creton: "I'm on it."

"Christendom is rather large, my lord." Ramsey said, "I do not keep track of every last little installation in the galaxy."

"Christendom didn't build that prison, Lord Roland." Fang said, "It was found here, along with that gate, with Garmil's party. Our forefathers, with the Church, seized it. Back then it wasn't a prison as we know such, but rather a tomb with measures meant to keep its interred host confined there."

"They expanded it into a prison once that condition became clear?"

"Indeed." Fang said, "As for who or what is kept in that place, I had no idea who it was until Dashing Jack approached me with this present plan."

"He told you?"

Fang shook his head. "I felt a shiver of suspicion, as his claim of just wanting to usurp the mining operation for Red Eyes was not reason enough for all of the secrecy and compartmentalization the plan required. It's one thing to keep some stashes nearby to swiftly resupply, or store booty from a raid that you can't take to your home port, but Jack hollowed out an asteroid large enough to wholly dock his flagship within. That's not an idle task."

Ramsey nodded as Creton spoke into his ear from elsewhere: "According to Church archives, only one prisoner is there."

"One of Red Eyes' henchmen sets up a significant base capable of repair and resupply of at least one battleship? Yes, that is a big task, and it means he's been preparing for this for far longer than you my lord. You've been had, taken in by your own corrupt heart."

Now Sibley spoke into Ramsey's ear: "You see Fang's play now, don't you? He'll attempt to run as soon as your back's turned."

"And now you sing a song of deceit and treachery far fouler than your own, seeking a mercy you don't deserve in return for telling tales to pass blame to your co-conspirators."

"His Grace the Duke may not share your conclusion." Fang said, "He has a pragmatic character."

"Indeed." Ramsey said, "He may not, but neither would I expect the pragmatic response to be mercy for someone confessed to treason and worse."

Ramsey read Fang, seeing his eyes glance up to the ceiling for a fraction of a second, and then noticed Fang sitting such that he could easily spring up into action. "Sibley was right as usual." Ramsey thought, "He wants to run, but not like a thief caught with a purse- but as an assassin caught in the attempt."

The speakers for the public address system sounded. "Attention! The Tiger of Maribu has arrived."

"My lord shall receive justice presently." Ramsey said as he turned to leave the brig. As he made his way to meet Duke Far, he smiled and spoke to his subordinates on the Baden-Powell: "I have a plan to turn Fang's escape plan back on him, and I think Duke Far will go along with it."

Crisis at Garmil's Gate - 16

Redalen's Revenge descended down into the clouds of Garmil's Gate, swooping with the terrible majesty of a bird of prey, emerging out of the clouds over a vast ocean before it leveled out about a mile above the surface.

"Captain, we're approaching the island prison." the helmsman said.

"Battle stations. All pilots to their mechs." Dashing Jack said, seated in his chair, "We're about to come under fire."

As the pirate pilots scrambled from the ready room to their cockpits, above on the bridge the crew strapped into their seats as the lighting changed over to battle mode. A warning rang out, and Gori looked over at the station reporting it.

"Stand-off missiles, Captain."

"Time to target."

"Two minutes."

"Launch countermeasures. Back-track trajectory, then launch counter-battery barrage."

Redalen's Revenge launched a score of signal-spoofing soft targets to all sides, confusing incoming missiles and driving them off the ship. One by one they reached a dummy target and detonated their proximity-fused warheads, lighting up a dim win-dark sea at twilight with brilliant fireballs. Without a word thereafter, the Revenge's own missiles launched its own stand-off barrage targeting the prison's stand-off batteries.

"Squadron: launch when ready and assume escort position." Jack said. The counter-battery barrage failed to reach their targets, shot down one by one by the prison's own anti-air defenses. Gori watched the barrage's failure, hit a few buttons, and brought it up on the main screen.

"We have enough to initiate the operation." Gori said.

"They will scramble their garrison units now." Jack said, "Continue counter-battery launches until we're within range with the guns, then pummel those batteries to scrap."

"Aye-aye, Captain." Gori said, and on the main screen a window popped up showing the new squadron leader- the man Ramsey allowed to escape.

"We're on station and awaiting orders, Captain."

"Engage the garrison. Clear them out first, and then assist in clearing a hole for the ship to punch through."

"Will you come out to play with us, Captain?"

"Not this time." Jack said, "So don't save anything for me."

"Acknowledged. Over and out." the leader said, and the window winked out. Gori walked over to Jack and bent towards his master's ear.

"A test?"

"At best."

Gori nodded. "One way or another, we'll make use of the Paladin's mercy."

Jack smiled. "Exactly. He acquits himself and proves his worth, does too well and exposes himself, or doesn't do well enough and disposes of himself- all of which I accept as useful outcomes."

The Revenge's squadron surged forth to intercept the incoming garrison units. Missiles flew back-and-forth around them, as big or bigger than their mecha, exploding in varying degrees of proximity. Then the two squadrons got into firing range and their formations broke up quickly into a furball of dogfighting.

On the bridge, the main screen showed the ship's guns to be within range. Jack smiled: "Fire!"

The turrets forward the bridge turned in unison towards the prison. They glowed their coruscating crimson color and then exploded outward into lethal lances of light and fire. Those brilliant beams blew through the twilight skies and beat upon their targets, first hitting as balled fists of angry angels, then melting holes through their thick armor carapace, before they erupted in exploding fireballs spewing death and dismemberment to all within sight.

"Again!" Jack yelled, and a second volley followed the first to the same success.

Meanwhile, Jack's squadron of subordinates successfully suppressed the garrison squadron. Those now fleeing fell to a combination of pursuing fire and getting caught in the explosions of the stand-off batteries, completing the assumption of air supremacy for Dashing Jack. The remaining reavers fell upon the anti-air batteries, losing a few over-zealous pirate pilots in the process, but those remaining guided their mothership in through the hole in the defenses now present.

"Target the main gate. Squadron retreat and await further orders." Jack said, and his men dutifully flew off as the Revenge now took aim at the prison's massive main gate.

"Batter that door down." Jack said, "Don't let the garrison rally."

The ship's main guns fired and fire and fired, hammering the gate without mercy for minutes, until it gave and caved.

"Go in and clear out the docks." Jack said, and his squadron did as commanded. The slaughter therein was swift and short, over well before the Revenge came to rest in the prison's docking bay. As the ship came to rest, and Jack made his way to the outside, his reavers rummaged through the facilities for plunder and other treasures- but found little.

"We've got control, Captain." Gori said as the two walked out to the dock, "And Gatewatch doesn't seem the wiser."

"That's because the garrison wasn't meant to keep people like us out. It was meant to keep its prisoner in."

The two accepted a boost from a waiting mech, which lifted them directly to the control room. As they climbed through the shattered window, Jack saw the mainframe terminal and accessed it. Moments later, he smiled.

"Captain, I take it you found what you came for."

"Indeed, Gori. Red Eyes will be pleased." Jack said, and he looked at a camera feed of the sole prisoner cell: a man of improbable beauty, with a label--a name, presumably--in an ancient tongue.

"Who is that?"

"That is what Red Eyes wants from this wretched backwater, Gori. Behold, the one who began all of this long ago: Azazel."

Crisis at Garmil's Gate - 10

Sir Ramsey saw on his helmet's viewscreen a readout on the Oni-class mecha now facing him. Typical of the class, they were manlike in appearance save for one big eye-piece for a primary visual sensor and light emitter mounted in the head servo, rather than the dual-eye system usually employed. Blaster rifle in the main hand, shield in the off-hand, beam saber in a recessed housing in the main arm, and able to accept mission-specific accessories in external mounts. Not able to fly in an atmosphere unassisted, but can do jumps; said to be a revision of a much older model from the Empire of Man era centuries ago.

Then Ramsey noted the modifications. Three were a dull gray in color, with only a red lens in the senor eye denoting their true allegiance. The fourth was a bright royal blue, with the same red sensor eye lens; he had to be the leader, and the leader's units was likely an ace's custom unit before its mothballing. He would have to be handled last.

Ramsey went back inside the ruined headquarters, heading to the levels below ground--to the parking garage and the motor pool--as he knew what was to come next: complete leveling of all above-ground structures. Sure enough, the mecha began firing to reduce the ruins to rubble, and Ramsey dodged several partial collapses as he rushed down the halls and shafts to find what he sought: wheels, and another way out.

Outside, the man in the royal blue unit raised an arm. "Cease fire!"

The fire ceased. As silence reclaimed the space, and the dust cleared, the Mining Guild compound was now indeed nothing more than a weird pattern of rubble around the courtyard.

"Unit Four, stay here with a squad of workers. Bring back the infantry and have them start mop-up." the man said, "The rest of you, follow me. I know where he's going."

The royal blue unit, two of the gray ones, and most of the workers turned about and left the scene to begin circling around to intercept Sir Ramsey. Inside, Ramsey cut open a shaft door with his beam sword from the inside, kicked it down, and leaped out of the shaft and into the motor pool. He looked about, and then his eyes fixed on a hovercycle.

"Perfect." he said as Ramsey ran to the bike, got on, and started it up. "Now it's time to move to the next step."

Outside, the rebel mecha turned around a bend on a service road connecting the compound with the spaceport. There they saw another road connect to it, leading to another--concealed--entrance far from prying eyes.

"He's got to be there!" the man said, "We've got him! Fire!"

Inside, Ramsey brought the bike within sight of the door leading outside. He revved the engine as he heard the enemy fire upon the door. He revved it higher and higher, and when the door came down he launched out with a shot. Bolts of blaster fire wizzed be his face and rockets flew just past his commandeered hovercycle as he charged right at then.

Rather than immediately turning aside, he fixed his eyes on the worker in the lead and went right for it. As he closed, he drew his beam sword. At the last second, he turned just aside and passed the lead worker. He ignited his sword and sliced into the worker's fuselage where the legs--currently in wheeled mode, acting more like an ATV--met the main body, forcing to swerve and crash.

Ramsey cut into a second worker as he passed through the mob, this time slicing into an external rocket pod. It had rockets left to launch, so moments after Ramsey passed the pod's fire control system caught fire and misfired the rockets. The explosion blew up the worker. Then Ramsey swerved to dodge a blow from one of the grey Oni, passing between its legs, and fled away from the mob at top speed- but not towards the spaceport. Instead, Ramsey ran towards the very open mining pit the rebels came from.

The man in the blue unit laughed. "The madman! There's no way out for him there! All units, turn about and continue pursuit. Let's run this animal to the ground."

Crisis at Garmil's Gate - 04

The Baden-Powell passed into the upper astmosphere of Garmil's Gate, flying on a long and leisurely path at high altitude, as Sir Ramsey Hennepin and Sibley looked over a holographic globe of the planet.

"There are plenty of possible targets, Sir Ramsey. Which one is it?"

"All of them, Sibley, but not all of them equally." Sir Ramsey, "Because it's not just about piracy. The pirates are just the most obvious symptom of the overall problem."

Sibley sat back in his chair as Creton entered the cockpit. "Sir Ramsey, your baton is ready as you asked." the boy said as he handed his knight a black baton roughly a foot in length, a baton with chromed ends and a chromed split in the middle.

Sibley eyed the baton warily. "Do you think it will be that perilous?"

Sir Ramsey nodded. "I do, and you're to be armed once we arrived. This is a dangerous situation that the Mining Guild has here, if the reports I've reviewed are accurate, one ripe for exploitation."

Creton looked up at his knight, his face a mask of confusion. "Am I coming too?"

"No, you need to stay on board in case we need to get out fast."

Creton looked down, disappointed, but Sibley would not have it. "In time, lad, but you're still very much a boy. You're still too small to fight against grown men and win, and that's exactly the sort of thing we're talking about. Here, in the ship, you can best help us should we need it."

"Listen to your father, Creton." Sir Ramsey said, "He's right. You're better here, flying and shooting the guns, than at our side- for now."

Sibley pulled the boy on to his lap. "Here, lad, let's see what you make of this."

Sir Ramsey pointed out various points of interest on the globe. "The Mining Guild has its mine here, and I'm told that they're abusing the workers terribly, which means that they'e got to be ready for someone to push them into revolting." Ramsey then pointed to another place, far away from the mine. "Here is the hunting lodge where several ladies of the court are in retreat, one of which is very close to Duke Far- Lord Fang's liege." Then Ramsey pointed to an island in an ocean. "Here's a prison where very dangerous criminals are hedl, when we can't execute them." Ramsey now looked right at Creton. "If you were the pirates, what would you do?"

Creton looked at the globe. "Pirates steal stuff right? They look for treasure and take it, or take stuff to get treasure."

"That's right, son." Sibley said, "Pirates steal."

"And these pirates are smarter than other pirates, right?"

"I think they want the girls and what's the prison. They don't want what's in the mine, because it's not gold. They can get gold if they get the girls or what's in the prison."

Sir Ramsey and Sibley smiled approvingly. "Good thinking, lad!" Sibley said, "Now, who will give them gold?"

"A lord." Creton said, "But not Duke Far. He's too good to do bad things like that."

"I think you're right." Sir Ramsey said, and Creton smiled, "I think there may be more than one lord ready to give these pirates gold, but which ones and why?"

Just then, an alert came over the cockpit. "Incoming message." Sibley said, "From below. It's the Guild."

Creton got off his father's lap as Sir Ramsey answered the call. A displeased older man appeared before them. "I am Master Iser, headman of the Guild's operations here. Sir Ramsey Hennepin, I await your arrival."

Sir Ramsey nodded. "Acknowledged, Master Iser. We shall land presently. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Of course, Paladin. The Guild is always ready to ccoperate with the Speaker of the Stars." Master Iser said, and his imaged winked out. Ramsey turned to Sibley and Creton. "If he doesn't try to accidentally murder us, then he will certainly allow the rebelling workers to do so. There is plenty wrong at Garmil's Gate."

"So, we're to be the Court's cleaning crew once more then?"

Ramsey patted a golden beam sword on his belt. "With golden fire, if need be."

Miscellanous Setting Notes for the Feudal Future

Space is Big, and Writers (Typically) Have No Sense of Scale.

So, if you don't mind my indulgence, some setting notes.

• Earth has a population of 10 billion people. Yet most people are not urbanites. Those on Earth proper are spread out across all of its landmass (including Antartica) and do not cluster in coastal cities, reducing the congestion of population accordingly. Further relieving this pressure are the floating settlements on the oceans, and their seabed counterparts deep below the waves. High-speed rail transit forms relgional networks that link up at major hubs into a global network. Air travel links with orbital connections to complete the Earth transit network. The orbital habitation is half the population, clustered around the Lagrange points using the model from the Universal Century timeline of the Gundam franchise (sans terminology).
• Mars and Venus are similarly populated, maintaining familiarity with Earth-normal living standards for extra-planetary populations; this practice repeated itself outside of the Terran System. Terraforming efforts are minimized by preferring Earth-like planets when viable, but the means to change a planet into something suitable for Mankind does exist and has for some time- including the means to increase or decrease the gravity of a world into Earth-friendly ranges.
• Faster Than Light Travel exists. Multiple forms exist, but most people know only of the hyperspace travel that requires starships with FTL drives. Gate-based travel exists. (Yes, that means that the gate at Garmil's Gate is a literal stargate.) The reason for both FTL travel and space-based population expansion stems from the same reason as the following technologies: The Nephalim and their Fallen Angel fathers.
• Mecha: Powered armor arose during the Wars of the Damned in the era immediately after the Coming of the Azure Flames. It was the best option to leverage a reduced Mankind's odds against the undead horde of the Necromancer, allowing a single man to fight against a thousand or more at a time- unarmed. Armed suits increased the leverage yet again, reducing the hordes from billions to nothing within a few generations, a deed done when The Emperor arose to establish the Empire of Man over the ruined Earth and bring war to the Nephalim. Giant robots arose when they became needed to fight the great monsters as well as the Nephalim and their fathers face-to-face. First those of the Real Robot sort, and then when the Church escaped its hobbling it joined in earnest and the Super Robots came in their wake to allow Man to fight Angel on even footing.
• Blasters: Arose when the need for firepower exceeding what then-conventional firearms allowed, with the creation of practical plasma-casting technology. Using the existing infrastructure to minimize downtime during the turnover, and increase redundancy, a situation akin to the 19th century's introduction of the metallic cartridge occurred. The first generation blasters were conversions of conventional cartridge firearms; the second generation were purpose-designed and built to use plasma cartridges, but could use more conventional ones if required. Eventually blasters became the norm, and the older firearms became historical relics like those they formerly displaced. Newer technologies are eliminating the need for shells, but those are naval technologies only at this time.
• Cloning/Drones/AI: Either banned or highly-regulated by the Church. Bodies with ego but no soul are ridiculously open to demonic possession, so to prevent demonic Terminator incidents these are banned from usage or highly restricted. Alas, this ban passed only after a high-profile incident in the past; the possessed AI warship is still out there, and still seeking to Kill All Humans. The use of cloning is strictly and tightly regulated, allowing for medical usage so long as it is neither contrary to dogma nor otherwise a criminal act. In either case, the Inquisitors are not shy about nuking the site from orbit just to be sure. This means that vehicles of all sizes still have men at the controls, with only some levels of remote piloting allowed.
• Personal Weapons: Most people carry a knife, or walk with a cane or staff. Those able to afford a blaster pistol carry it, and few places are so foolish or venal as to ban the practice and try to enforce it. Beam swords are commonplace for noblemen, knights, and those aspiring to such status (often gentlemen).
• Medical technology: In a properly established and maintain facility, almost nothing immediately fatal will keep you down; gene therapy (see Cloning), self-derived clones of vital parts (clone your own liver; swap it out for a damaged one), and similar such technologies along with therapeutic techniques to support recovery make many injuries survivable. Lost limbs remain an issue, but for now cyborg replacements are the norm and are fitted as soon as possible.

And that's just some of them. Merry Christmas, folks.

Making the Setting: The Church & the Solar Guard

The far future setting has the vast galaxy divided into holdings by noble families, organized into Houses, due to a combination of a significant time without Faster-Than-Light travel sufficiently speedy to enable the sort of casual travel common people enjoy today on Earth and a similar lack of tele-communications technologies that allow vastly-distributed populations to interact as if living together. It is during this time that the Church returned to prominence as an institution, deliberately moving itself into the central Axis Mundi, filling the conceptual and political space usually taken by secular hegemons, again- successfully, this time.

The Church owns the entire solar system where Earth--still center of Christendom--and rules it directly, a deliberate revival and upscaling of the old Papal States. Possessed of all the Church's archives, the lessons of past mistakes get avoided by the Papacy of the post-Apocalyptic era, allowing for new ones to occur instead.

With an upscaling of the Papal States comes an upscaling of the Swiss Guard. In addition to the deliberate revival and reinvigoration of the old military orders, the Swiss Guard also came into the new age with a revitalization on their core purpose of protecting the Papacy and acting as the Vatican's armed guard. The Guard became the Solar Guard as the Church expanded into space and assumed ownership of the system, with additional duties including supervision of the military orders. As the years wore on, practices that began as pragmatic necessities became political policies, such as the shunning of noble-born recruits in favor of common-born and the right to claim orphans as wards of the Church.

Today, well into the future, the Solar Guard represents the Church, the Pope, and the Court of Stars. While not a monastic order as such, its long association with the monastic orders (military and otherwise) as well as the Church in general means that certain norms of military life in noble houses are believed--but not required by Church law or Guard regulation--to be for retirement, such as marriage and family life. Instead, the Guard is regarded as a fraternal military order of Knights-Errant; a life of military service directly to all Mankind via the Church, and a knighthood to go with it, but to wait until one's adventuring days close to enjoy the joy of family life- thinking that any foes of a Knight of the Guard are long rendered moot by then, and so avoiding the vulnerability that a heroic knight has in love and fatherhood.

This is a long-standing dispute within the Guard and the wider Church, citing both examples both historical and mythical in the arguments that fly back and forth--yes, including Star Wars--to no decisive conclusion as yet. As our story cycle opens, one such senior Knight of the Guard (Sir Ramsey Hennepin) travels on dispatch from the Court of Stars in Rome on Earth to the distant world of Gamil's Gate due to the depredations of Red Eyes and his pirate fleet, where the dispute (and other issues) will seem so far away.

(World Building) The Necromancer

The Necromancer is the first of the big players to arise in the wake of the Azure Flames. Like all of the others, he is a consequence of the pre-cataclysm conspiracies to establish a global tyranny. Unlike them, he is a consequence in the most literal sense: he had no ties to either of the conspiracies, and instead arose because of the effects of their failure.

The Necromancer was a ghetto kid, son of a waste of a mother and abandoned before birth by his father, and kept in check only so much as it kept his mother in the good graces of the authorities. He got shot when a firefight between street gangs broke out over a particular corner of the drug trade, and the gang-bangers (being notoriously incompetent shooters) cared not where their fire went. As he got rushed to the hospital, the cataclysm began; he was abandoned at the operating table, dismissed as a worthless punk kid better off dead, and left to die.

As he died, Christopher Walken appeared to him. Only it wasn't Walken, but someone appearing as Walken did in The Prophecy, calling himself an angel of God and offering the boy a chance for revenge- to make the world feel his pain, listen to his word, and obey his commands. The boy agreed, and the angel--who is Satan--gave the boy over to Legion.

Legion is the source of The Necromancer's power. He does not control the boy, as the boy is not dead and Satan forbade Legion controlling the living. Legion abides because his desires are being fulfilled, as he now controls billions of corpses, but chafes at being subject to a boy's borrowed authority (as he serves as Satan's anchor on Earth). Satan is the deniable Grand Vizier to The Necromancer, playing the boy like a fiddle as he knows the boy's psychology and pushes his buttons as a master pianist plays the keys.

The Necromancer has other henchmen at his disposal, which are the damned souls of the worst of Mankind allowed to take up the dead flesh at The Necromancer's disposal and walk the Earth once more to fulfill The Necromancer's will. Other damned souls are yoked to serve as immaterial shades, advising The Necromancer. All of these are withdrawn once Satan removes his support, albeit not at once, and their removal serves to track progress in the war against The Necromancer; until that support is withdrawn, they return time and again to menace the enemies of The Necromancer.

The Necromancer, billed as "Master of All Flesh", endures for as long as he does because he and Legion cooperate. They erect a worldwide Empire of the Dead, complete with ziggurats and sacrifices, following Satan's advice. However, Satan (being the Supreme Deceiver) ultimately betrays both his human and his demonic ally once their usefulness is at an end and he shifts his allegiance to the Empire of Man. Knowing his allies' weaknesses, Satan elevates the Empire and enables their conquest of The Necromancer; providing verifiable proof of The Necromancer's actions drives the Empire of Man's propaganda efforts that galvanize the people to support the Emperor. The Necromancer ends his life as it began: mortally wounded, on a table, and abandoned to die. The Emperor, at the final moment, recognizes that his enemy is truly at his end and gives him the mercy of a swift, painless death. The Necromancer then goes to Hell.

The final death of The Necromancer marks the end of the first phase of the world post-cataclysm, and the shift from surviving in a hostile ruined world to the rise into a recovered world filled with terrible purpose and horrific fury at that which ruined what came before.

(World Building) Timeline: From the Coming of the Azure Flames Foreward

This is a rough timeline, the purpose of which is to stake out temporal territory for certain stories.

The Coming of the Azure Flames is an event that destroyed the Old World (our world) and its civilization, so we're starting from a ruined state and initial stories set in this period are about survival and adaptation as the last of the Old World disappears and the new age completely supersedes it. This is when Ken's post-cataclysm stories occur, after his transformation into the father of the nation of men that bear his name. This is when The Necromancer arises and he becomes a recurring antagonist to Ken and others, and his rise and fall mark this era.

Overlapping this is the rise of various rivals to The Necromancer. The Archmage of Solador, coming to dominate Cascadia, is one of them. The Founder of The Hidden City, which is able to operate world-wide due to enduring Old World architecture that his people go on to rebuild and expand, is another. These folks go on to be the players in The Wars of the Damned, ending with the rise of the Empire of Man (which throws down The Necromancer).

The Empire of Man goes on a crusade to purge the world of all that is unnatural and inhuman, creating a one-world state and religion that runs a wholly authoritarian and totalitarian police state. Yes, even in the undersea and orbital reaches, as the aim of the Empire is to fully subjugate the Earth before taking the crusade into space. Stories here mark the transition from the false hope of a false prophet through to the creation of a resistance that persists in persecution until a successful contact with sympathetic external allies brings forth a true savior that makes real the dream of freedom upon which the Empire's religion feeds.

Overlapping this is the Diaspora of Man. The Hidden City leads an exodus once it becomes clear that the Empire will win on Earth. Using what they recovered from ages before the Old World, they establish extra-planetary colonies elsewhere in the solar system starting with Mars and Venus, and spread out from there. It is during this period that they come into contact with the allies that would later break the Empire on Earth, but not before their own nation undergoes its own period of unrest and transformation.

The timeline from there I have yet to set down. The trend, however, is meant to echo real collapses and recoveries with some exaggerations for effect. The span for this period is about 500 years on the outside; once I'm satisfied with how specifics shake out, I'll revise this timeline with something more specific in terms of dates. For now, I have just a start point--a point of divergence--and I will work forward from there.

The Big Ideas in My Works: The Solador Series

I'm using posts here to flesh out elements of my fictional world that won't gt a lot of attention in these manuscripts. A lot of the stories I'm writing tie together via the cataclysm that destroyed the old world and created this one, mostly through the common connection of the conspiracies behind that event.

The Solador books (currently) work around the idea in LeGuin's "Those Who Walk Away From Omelas", but what is forsaken is inverted: instead of a forgotten child left to suffer in darkness, the sacrifice is of a designated hero who is elevated to celebrity status (and dehumanized accordingly) and upon whom the community piles on their expectations at the prompting of the Solador leadership: The Exalted. This figure is meant to represent them to the Exalted, as go-between bridging the ordinary and the supernatural. Said leadership installs the hero, manipulates his rise and controls him with rewards given to such heroes in the mythology that these leaders deliberately copy. When the hero becomes too unstable to control, they orchestrate his fall and elevate his replacement to ensure that this control mechanism continues.

Of course, the protagonist is that hero. The deuteragonist is another pawn who figured it out and aims to put this scam to an end. The Antagonist is the leader of The Exalted: The Archmage. Other figures mentioned or featured include The Necromancer, the other Exalted (The Champion, The Devil, The Hierophant, and The Physician), and Master Bradley of The Hidden City. The hero's wife, children, and his dog Han are minor (but significant) players in this story.

The theme of the Big Idea (occulted schemes of control) continues in Solador's signature feature: "The Blessing of the Unconquered Sun". This is a full-body augmentation, centered around a gem implanted in the forehead. From this gem--the Soul Gem--comes a woad-like full-body tattoo made of gold and silver. The system exists to prevent one from being turned undead; the means is by incinerating the corpse as soon as life stops, in a manner that resembles a program's deresolution in the original Tron, leaving only ashes and dust behind. There is a secondary effect that the body's resilience is greatly improved, akin to wearing well-padded armor. Implications are addressed, and intended by the creator: The Archmage.

So: trauma-based mind control, active perception management, culture-level political manipulation, wars meant to be sustained to control internal population, occult powers used to set up and sustain a false religion, and what it takes to keep that going vs. how fragile it is if at all vulnerable. That's what's going on here, while writing about adventures involving undead hordes, fighting against terrible odds, treachery within, and the inevitable victory of Truth over Lies.

Future History: The Coming of the Empire of Man

This is typical of father-to-child home instruction in the Empire, which is the most education on history that most Imperial children get and is mirrored in Imperial propaganda (i.e. all their media), and differs only in the tone and vocabulary used. This would be typical of a doctor to his children, or someone of similar rank, but not part of the Empire's true elite.

What is now called "The Old World" or "The Age of Wonders" ended in a cataclysm, the Azure Flames. What we now know, centuries later, is that this was a divine subversion of an infernal conspiracy's attempt to utilize a mass human sacrifice to power a ritual summoning to bring their master into this world. The ritual failed, the destruction ruined a corrupt civilization, and allowed for the release of a different infernal entity: Legion.

It also put down a judgement on all alive past the age of reason, condemning their corpses to Legion upon death. It also allowed Legion to take any other man's corpse that it slew as the beast it was, but we know now that there was a catch: Legion had to use a human agent and work through him. No agent? Banished once more to realms beyond Man's reach. This is the origin of the villain and traitor known as "The Necromancer", and the source of his immense power.

The infernal conspiracy had its turncoats and sandbaggers. Two of them we now know as The Archmage of Solador, and the Founder of The City-State. We know of the existence of a score of others. These would become, along with The Necromancer, the Dark Lords that dominated the era after the Coming of the Azure Flames known now as "The Wars of the Damned".

The chaos brought about by the rampant sin of our predecessors had one mercy, now also known to be divinely granted, in the transformation of one righteous man into the legendary Ken, father of the race that would allow our Emperor the time and territory needed to gather the remnant of the faithful together into our glorious Empire and build us into a single nation capable of winning our world back from the Dark Lords.

Now, as we near five centuries since the Azure Flames ended the Age of Wonders, the Empire put down The Necromancer and ended Legion's threat. Other Dark Lords hide from the Empire, knowing we are mighty and armed with more than muscle and machines. Their ruinous powers cannot withstand our faith. One by one, we shall put all of them to the sword and burn their blighted lands to ash before claiming them as our own once more. Go forth, my son, and serve the Emperor with all your heart. The Emperor will lead us to victory, to true freedom, and bring cleansing fire to all who defy what is commanded of us.

Note that this is not the actual truth of the Empire of Man. The actual truth is that it is another "Dark Lord", born of the same conspiracy that caused the cataclysm. The Empire deliberately models itself on Warhammer 40000's Imperium of Man, and its own inspirations, and as its technical proficiency increases more things out of those inspirations appear. However, the Empire does have one quirk of its own: it does not have a military- it IS the military; there is no civilian life. Every man is a soldier. Every woman is a nurse. This grants total control over the population under permanent wartime conditions, and permanent subjection to military authority; the religious overtones are the mockery of a true faith, with the Emperor as a Priest-King. While talking a lot about purity and opposition to the supernatural, it harbors a hidden elite with powers of their own. Thus the Empire is, in truth, a militant cult- one that officially celebrates and unofficially hates its allies.

Story Fragment: The Hermit by the Lake

Unfinished story fragment below. Will be built-out some time later.

"Father, why are we going to this place?"

Jack looked over at his son. Still a boy, but not much longer, so he held his tongue. "He remembers the world the way it was, before it all fell into ruin."

"So he will know?"

"I hope so, son." Jack turned his gaze to his wife, the boy's mother, as she nursed his little daughter on the other end of the table. "If he can't answer the question, then we face great peril."

His wife looked up at him. "Go on, both of you. My father's name alone will keep them at bay. None dare touch one of Ken's daughters."

Or his grandsons. Jack thought, noticing his son's resembling to the Eater of the Dead that was his father-in-law.

Jack nodded, understanding the risk. He pointed at the gun rack, and his son got up to get a pair from them. One the boy slung over his shoulder, and the other the boy handed to Jack. A third remained, meant for his wife's use.

"Show him the way, Jack." she said, "And son, use all your senses to memorize the path."

The boy nodded. Jacked checked his rifle, and looked on as the boy followed his father's example, and then they left their humble home in the wilderness.

I have no idea what to do with this. I'm posting it here as much for your amusement as I am to just get it out of my head so I can turn back to The Burning of Hugo. If you have anything to suggest, you know what to do: comment below.

That Face When You See How Badly You Need to Rewrite

Judgement of Solador needs revision something fierce. I knew that months ago. I reviewed the manuscript recently, and narrative structure flaws leaped off the page and beat me about my face like a chimp strung out on smack.

I said months ago that it had to be re-written into a trilogy. Now I see why, as I completely fucked up the execution of the core premise for the story: that Omelas's "forsaken child" works better as a dehumanized celebrity idol, worshipped as a public hero (and upon whom all expectations get heaped, and blame shifted for failure), and considered to be no more than a fleshbot to be used up and replaced by his superiors.

The first few drafts maintained the premise, but failed to really bring it out and work it to its conclusion. I now see that I need to expand the story to accomplish that goal, and then to finish the story I need to build out to a trilogy; the first book runs with the premise straight, the second twists it in one plot thread while presenting the counter, and the third takes the counter to its conclusion.

If I can do as least as well as other recent dystopic trilogies, I'll be happy.

If I can do this better (my actual objective), I'll be elated.

And the only awards I care about say "Pay to the Order Of" and "I Want More Booky-Books From YOU!"

The End Began in the Middle-12

As I write this, that girl's mother stands by. I am indeed very old now, and it hasn't been long since that wedding. Ken came and went a few times since, and he's back now. This is it. He knows it, and so do I. When I finish this, the last of my memoirs, I will go to bed that night and I will not wake up. I will expire, peacefully, in my sleep. As soon as the point of death is had, Ken will prevent my turning.

I don't know exactly what that means, and I don't want to know. I can't really stop him from eating my body, so I never bothered to argue that he shouldn't. Maybe he will. Maybe not. It's irrelevant for me to speculate. All I know for certain is that the one concession to convention about kingship--a worn thing symbolzing who is king, a crown--will be taken from my head and placed on my son's head. The mother of my grandson's wife will do the placing, and Ken will pronounce my son as king. "The king is dead. Long live the king." being traditional, that is what I expect will be the ritual phrasing.

Word went out of my approaching death and my son's succession. The households under my sword, as it were, are awaiting the news. Fortunately, they appreciate my son much as they do--did--me so I don't expect much trouble out of them after I'm gone; if there is trouble, it will be after those great-grandchildren are born and they turn out to be boys. Being ruled by mutant corpse-eaters may be a bridge too far for many of them, and they'll have to be dealt with.

I did not expect to live to 100, nevermind past that, and yet here I am- barely. The high technology I once took for granted is long gone now, and the digital world I once expected to be my Heaven has vanished. Instead I struggled--when not butchering men or monsters--to retain all the useful knowledge I could, and pass on that and the importance of its preservation to those after me. With an illiterate woman birthing my future heirs, I am concerned that they will be unable to read these words and thus come to understand the man that made their inheritance possible- or the world he came from.

Yes, I survived. Yes, I brought down a corrupt and degenerate world. Yes, I built up a robust and sustainable kingdom out of those ashes, but I am unsure that whom I pass this wealth down to will appreciate it or be able to preserve it against the threats that now exist. The end for me comes, and I have made my peace with that. What I cannot--will not--accept is that my legacy will be as easily reduced to ashes and dust.

All men die. Yet only when a man is forgotten is he truly destroyed. "Christopher I, King of Laketown" is far better than "Christoper Holm, some guy who wrote books and shot traitors" at being remembered.

Remember me.

The End Began in the Middle-11

I had the word about the wedding put out to my people, commanding the attendance of the households, and they did as I expected: grumble, but comply. All that butchery left a lasting impression, and they did appreciate my aggressive efforts against The Necromancer, so they sat down and shut up about my ties to Ken and his people- amongst other things. Soon I got replies and when the date got settled that too went out, and when the date came my people showed up to witness the future of my kingdom come into view.

It was, for the most part, a good wedding. Food (for those of us that could eat it) and drink (ditto) aplenty, a respectable turnout of household heads or their agents (some took ill; I verified that), toasts and boasts and games to cheer and thrill one and all. The bride had the time of her life, which was not hard to do: she could not read or write, and spent her life to this point in the middle of the woods living in a cabin that had no heat or electricity so my "castle"--a run-down lakeside resort hotel repurposed into a fortified manor--seemed like an enchanted palace of gold and diamonds to her eyes, but she knew her wifely arts well and thought my grandson to be a true prince out of the stories her mother told her.

That talk about women would be coming after the wedding night. At least my son and I had prepared him that much.

The cost for this wedding came with taking in the girl's mother also, and she I installed as my caretaker to keep her out of my son's way and keep her influence over my successors to a minimum. I knew how to handle a woman like this, so I did just that; it helped that I had secrets of my own that I kept all these years, including the means by which I kept folks just down enough to prevent them from using my sleepy time to meddling in my affairs. (Sure, I used it also way back when to keep bothersome folks asleep while I did what I needed to do to properly put them down where they deserved to be, but fortunately that was a rare occurrence- but it was also very lucrative.)

The wedding came and went. The feast came and went. I did enjoy myself, as best I could, in both happenings. My new grand-daughter-in-law even smiled at me, as only a truly innocent young girl just married could, and kissed me on the cheek. "I promise, sire, to be the very best wife I can to him." she said, as only a girl like that could. For a moment, I remembered a better tomorrow that never came. Heh. Even now, after it all, I still want to believe.

As for the girl's mother, she too turned out better than I expected. That night, as she helped me to bed, she engaged me in idle chat.

"Well, I didn't expect my girl to end up here."

"How so?"

"Ken said you were a hell of a man, a butcher, a pig-headed bastard, and terrible with women."

"All true." I said, "Still. You're just behaving well."

She laughed, and I could tell that she got exactly what I meant.

The End Began in the Middle-10

"Everyone can see that you're setting up that boy of yours to be your successor." Ken said, "Your own son is okay with that?"

"He'll play seat-warmer for a while. He'll officially be the first successor, but he's really just finishing the training I began. When Jeremy is ready, he'll take the throne; this marriage is meant to cement that future."

"You're banking on the rumor about my genetics."

"That your sons, and their sons, turn out to be just like you and your daughters carry that trait to give to the sons they bear? You got it."

Ken chuckled. "Your descendants will not go hungry."

There was not more to say after that. Ken knew the real reason that I had him come to me: to fulfill the other favor I won from him all those years ago, which was to prevent my reanimation after I died.

One thing I knew for certain is that everyone alive at the time of the apocalypse who survived that would, inevitably, become a zed when they died unless they somehow got around being a normal man or woman. (Ken, for example, would not because he's a corpse-eating mutant freak.) What I came to suspect is that those born after that wouldn't automatically turn into zeds, but it was useful to keep up the practice anyway just in case so I did not ever tell anyone this suspicion other than Ken.

"Well, at least you can enjoy one more wedding before the end."

"Yeah." I said to the big snow-white man with no hair and sunken yellow eyes, "Just one more."

The End Began in the Middle-09

Eventually I sent my son off to sleep also. I stayed up; being king has its perks, even in the most primitive of conditions.

So many dead at my hands over the years. I didn't bother telling either of them about the fighting and killing I did as a youth; after all the epic slaughter before and after the apocalypse, a handful of shankings when I was a kid doesn't merit inclusion outside of my memoirs- not that writing means much anymore, but I do it anyway.

I got bored and slept in short order. The next day, over breakfast, my son and I broke the news to Jeremy. He took it far better than we thought.

"So, you want me to go look up old Ken, see about a daughter, and then bring them back here?"

We nodded, and that was that.

Now, being old and such, I really can't say for certain what it took to get that done. What I know is what Jeremy and Ken told me, which goes something like this: Jeremy took a man with him and they set out for one of the regular haunts that Ken would visit at that time of the year. They arrived to find a woman roughly his mother's age and a girl a few years young than himself tending to a cabin that wasn't there when I was there last, which was many years ago. The woman was one of Ken's concubines, put there to be a custodian year-round, and the girl was his daughter by that woman. It turned out that Ken arrived with a few others in his train the next day, and when the two had their sit-down Ken altered his plans right away to come see me.

So, all told this errand had the boy away for a month and most of that was evading zeds too troublesome to take on. The marriage was agreed to, and thankfully--again--the girl took a liking to my grandson. While my son and her mother negotiated details, Ken and I had a nice little reunion of sorts after many years going our own way.

"You're dying." Ken said, "I can smell it."

"I'm old, you corpse-eating freak. It happens to normal men."

"What do your people think of this marriage?"

"I don't care. They'll go along with it or the zeds will eat them, and then my progeny will eat their animated corpses."

"Now that's the right bastard I remember."

The End Began in the Middle-08

"Father, I heard you talking about the limits of what a hard man can hold. I think we're at that limit given our own band of men. We have control over all the lakes and our base here on Mille Lacs allows us to feed from the lake's fish year-round as well as take advantage of the fresh water. We're not likely to do much better than this, not with the pressure coming from the Necromancer to the south. I think we should reconsider future plans."

"You're reconsidering whom to marry the boy off to."

"We're not going to make it as just ordinary men. We can't keep up the numbers, or the material, for much longer. As soon as whatever it is that consumes The Necromancer's attention is done, he'll turn again north and come at us with a tidal wave of zeds to wash us away. We need to take any advantage we can get if what you carved out of the ruins is to endure well into Jeremy's lifetime."

"To what do we turn then?" I said, "We sell ourselves to some witch? That will go well when Ken hears of it. The natives fled deeper into the wilderness, those that survived, and that meant going further north so they're out. Are we to produce nuclear weapons out of tinfoil and beer? Come on, son! There is only one option of that sort open to us."

"Yes. One."

"We'll tell the boy tomorrow after breakfast. It'll give him time to prepare."

"For what?"

"The journey. He's got to be the one to go bring Ken back. You're going to be too busy keeping the place going to go running around the field."

"You know what else that means, Father."

"Yes, and I know that some of the homesteads aren't keen on Stalkers. Too bad. It's join Ken's people or die out, and I'm not one for dying out- even if I don't have much longer myself to live."

"It's decided then?"

"Hell yes it is. Ken's got to have a daughter by now. Jeremy's marrying her and breeding heirs, like it or not."

The End Began in the Middle-07

"You talk a lot about men, Grandfather."

"That's because men have depth to them. Women don't. Women are simple creatures, and should never be trusted to be anything but a woman. That's how I stayed with your grandmother for as long as I did."

"That's harsh."

"Only because it's gotten a lot better since the Old World died in fire. The women that survived had to clean up and get back in line if they wanted to live, and the girls born since--like your mother--weren't allowed to degenerate into the wretched whores that their mothers were. For all that got lost, what's come in its wake proved to me that this was the best thing that could have happened to Mankind. The natural order is back for good."

The boy nodded, but I knew he didn't get it yet. Fortunately, he didn't have to get it just yet- and I'd be deciding on his wife anyway, so all he had to do was follow orders until he grokked it. It's not like there's a lot of available women around to mess him up in the head or otherwise make a mess of things.

"Enough. Bed. Now."

Jeremy did as I told him, and off he went to bed. Shortly thereafter my son came in with a mug of brew and sat in his place.

"Telling him stories again, Dad?"

I cupped him for his manners.

"Sorry, Father."

"Better, and yes- because he asked, and he has a need to know now that he's coming into manhood. He's got to know why things are what they are if he's to rule well when the time comes."

"I don't recall you ever being that dismissive with Mother."

"Because your mother, at the time the world ended, was still a child. Her parents got eaten by zeds, and Ken took her in thinking he could groom her for a mate. He traded her to me in return for taking him in and healing him up after that incident with the witch in the lighthouse and the crazy cult that arose in her wake. When she was ready, I took her as my wife and that ensured that I didn't have to clean out bad programming."

I saw on my son's face that our age difference never crossed his mind. She was born on the cusp of the millenium, and I took her as she came of age. Well, after the end of the Old World no one in their right mind balks at young women married to mature men. Sure, I put three children to her in five years; we needed numbers, and that's why I married her. Love had nothing to do with it at all; I needed a loyal wife who I could train to be a competent wife and mother, and she did just fine.

"And-"

"Yes, son, when I made that deal for your wife I had the exact same thing going in my mind: getting a young woman that could be readily trained to be good at the jobs needed of her. It helps that she actually liked you. Your mother respected and appreciated me, but that sort of thing never existed."

"Widowers both we are now." he said.

The End Began in the Middle-06

"So everything was coming together to blow it all apart?" he said, and I nodded.

"Yeah, that's it exactly. While it still held together, I took as much as I could from the dead and used it to prepare for this." I said, waiving around the room we sat in, "Not that most of those cultists had any sense to prepare for anything like this, so looting their corpses and then their accounts was a lot easier than I expected. Soon I had all of this land, the buildings, the stores, and so on ready and waiting for the shit to hit the fan. All I had to do was get out of the Cities and make it here, and I knew I had it made."

"How long?"

"Ah, now we're moving from 'How did I destroy a social cancer disguised as a movement?' to 'How did I found a new kingdom out of these ashes?' A good time for that transition, since there's not much else to talk about in terms of how I contributed to the burning to ashes of the Old World- and why it deserved to die screaming for its mother like the pathetic bitch it was."

He chuckled.

"Well, as dramatic as hacking my way through a sea of zeds would be, that's not how it happened. I got a tip from someone I knew who went into the Spook world that something big was due in three days, and I should bug out. I took that warning seriously, cleared out my place in town, and then I fled the Cities and came here. I didn't warn anyone else, because fuck them. Whomever managed to not get eaten and still made it I'd consider letting in."

"And?"

"Twenty got here. I put half of them down because they got bit and lied to me about it; that's where the bone pile started. After that first winter I started going around to the others nearby and gave them the choice, and that's when I began building the kingdom that you have been born into."

"And become king of in time."

Now I chuckled.

"If you live long enough to succeed your predecessors. For all that your father and I made of our killing powers we are still mortal men- we do have limits. Don't be like the dumbasses who thought that words had power by themselves; real power, real ruling, relies on hard men ready and willing to kill and kill and kill to get and keep that power. That means that there is only so much that one hard man can rule; to do more than that you need loyal men, and that means finding men worthy of your loyalty. That, my boy, is the real hard part. Kingdoms rise and fall by the power of the king to find and keep good men at his side."