Francis LaPorte and the Association of Good Fellows

One People

Monday, 7 Nisan, 5693

Arden Ditmer walked proudly through the great crowd of Kingsmen clerics, theologians, and political speakers as he entered into the great conference hall their hosts had prepared for them. While milling around, he had encountered many of his friends and many more familiar faces. They weren't all there for the same reasons, and Arden knew that all too thoroughly, but they were there gathered in one solitary hope that unity may come to them as it had to the Kingsmen of the Tyran tradition. Only in this new spirit of unity would the Kingsmen of the Reformation be able to properly negotiate with the new Empire under Chancellor Freitag's government.

In addition to the curious collection of clergy, the political presence was quite an impressive one there. Chase Girdle was there, along with several other ranking members of the Association, and Arden smiled hopefully at every one of them. They were there with a purpose of their own, and Arden knew that, also, but he had great hope that it may be a good one for governor, cleric, and citizen alike.

Of equal note to Arden, however, was the knowledge of who wasn't there. It was an important conference, one which might restore the influence of the Kingsmen in Garma, and it seemed to him that any who were not present had little interest in the future of the nation, the church, or even their lives. Francis had told him that he wasn't coming, but he hadn't wanted to believe him. So, he tirelessly searched for him to absolutely no avail, until, at last, he had no alternative but to admit that he really wasn't there.

Another man stopped him in his troubled state. "Arden Ditmer! Who is it you're searching for so determinedly?" addressed the man with a crooked smile.

It was Ronald Truett, and Arden became startled when he recognized the thin faced man with blackened hair and eyes like voids of darkness.

"I was hoping to find Francis LaPorte, but it seems to me that he isn't here," Arden admitted nervously. He knew that Francis wasn't a favorite of the National Association.

"Absent," Truett said, shaking his head, and stopped to make a clicking sound three times with his tongue. "What a pity. I've begun to hear so much about him."

"Indeed," Arden replied, feeling a little less comfortable; "He's quite a man."

Truett smiled in a most disingenuous manner. "Indeed," he said, raising an eyebrow with a devious glance. "By the way, have you seen Liam Fidel at all?"

Arden shook his head, his stomach beginning to bother him. "Come to think of it, I haven't, and I've been all over. He must not be here, either. But I haven't seen him in some weeks, anyway..."

"Enough!" Truett said, turning to face the front of the room. "They'll start soon," he told him; "I wasn't expecting him, anyway."

Arden was silent for a moment, unsure of how to properly respond to the man who had taken up a conversation.

Truett looked back at him, again his eyes fixed with dark intent. "It's unfortunate that your friends have so little interest in that which would so greatly benefit all of us. Are they cold to the world, Mr. Ditmer? Are they indifferent to the future of our glorious empire?"

Arden stared at him. "Maybe they are," he said, "but I don't like to think so. Still, they surely sympathize with our oppressors. Francis has Altruic blood in his family. His twin sister married one of them."

"Hm..." Truett mused, "Yes, there may be a lack of loyalty there. Still, the opportunity for the Kingsmen Order to be joined with the Garman Empire and unite under Herr Freitag's leadership is one which should not be taken lightly by anyone, particularly one who bears the blood of such an outstanding family."

Arden nodded pensively. "It is a very foolish thing he has done to take exception to our great leader."

It was then that another man came on stage, the anticipation of his speech growing with the shout of acclamation in the room. There stood Herman Desnik, who walked up to the microphone set for him on a stand at the center of the empty stage. He stood alone, a tall and impressive man with dark eyes and a menacing presence. He wore his full Garman regalia, his shining buttons and medals gleaming beautifully in the reflecting light. He was a stern man with rounded glasses, a faded mustache, and short cropped hair dark brown in color.

Desnik looked out over his audience with a severe and judging gaze, and there was silence as the tension in the room began to rise. Then, suddenly, almost violently, he thrust his arm into the air with open hand, raising high the salute, and said, "Verehren Freitag!"

"Verehren Freitag!" the room replied, saluting him in like manner.

"Verehren Freitag!" he said again, this time louder, his voice taking on a more forceful tone.

"Verehren Freitag!" the room replied again.

"Verehren Freitag!" Desnik shouted, almost in the form of a battle cry.

"Verehren Freitag!" the people declared, copying his tone like mindless militants.

"Good," Densik said shortly, dropping his arm. "Take note of who is not with us today, because those are the traitors of our nation! They have aligned themselves against us! They have aligned themselves with the enemy! They have chosen their side! They have made themselves the enemies of Garma and the enemies of progress! They will not be guiltless before us!"

The room exploded in uproarious applause, a greater reaction than Arden would have expected, but still he watched. The Good Fellow craze was something real, something which so very many had put their trust in... and a place where many found their hope.

"Now!" Desnik declared masterfully, "Here we are entering into a new age for Garma, an age of prosperity, promise, and dominion! And under these principles of conformity, unity, and leadership, we will rise as an unstoppable force, unparalleled throughout history! Remember — one people, one nation, one leader!"