Kingdoms of Corruption

Prologue

It was late in the year when many of the realms of the Land of the People came to officially forge an alliance with the Domin Empire. Many would say it was too late, for the Land had been divided for centuries. Ever since the war with Mustaton had been won, however, the smaller states had flocked to Domin one by one.

And so the day came when twenty-three elaborately-decorated motorhouses rumbled into the central bailey of the Silver Citadel and offloaded its passengers. They were of the nobility of their respective kingdoms, richly dressed and perfumed. Each noble wore a mask made from unique colours and patterns, some with jewels embedded onto the surface. They would take them off once they were inside the palace. There would be no commoners there, only distinguished upper class servants and elite guards.

As one would expect, the citadel was heavily guarded. They had passed through all three of the citadel's walls to make it to the central palace, with a dozen soldiers at each checkpoint searching for weapons and identifying the guests. Mailed men-at-arms and soldiers with rifles patrolled the walls, which were so high they cast the whole bailey in shadow. The portcullises at each gatehouse were wrought with activated skrysteel and all were lowered shut apart from the main entrance. One of the most impregnable fortresses on the Continent took no chances, it would seem.

Prince Oruncor of Gatrasia was the last to arrive. Unlike the nobles of the other vassal kingdoms, he rode bareback on a crimson stallion. Both man and beast were fully tattooed. Oruncor would have worn armour too, had it been permitted. Instead, he wore no upper clothing at all, a tradition of his people when attending important occasions. He could sense the awkward sideward glances and the quiet mutterings from the soldiers he passed. Some even snickered. If these are the reactions of disciplined soldiers, Oruncor thought, then I wonder how the nobles will respond. They thought of his people as barbarians, just another tribe of savages from the wild lands of Greenspeake to the north. He did not care what they thought. Let them insult him behind his back. He was here for one purpose and no amount of mockery would sway him from his task.

The feast had already begun when Oruncor reached the Great Hall. Typical. He had only arrived a few moments after the previous guest, not a minute past sunset, and already the food was being served. Out from the kitchens below came the appetisers, exotic fruits from lands Oruncor could not even guess decorated with delicate golden wafers. After that came three courses involving all kinds of sauce-flooded meats, fragrant spices and rich desserts. The most notable dish was of course the national delicacy: the legendary Titan Trout, twelve-foot-long, oven-baked and served on a trolley. It could only be found in the depths of Lake Tramaina, adjacent to the city.

Oruncor was overwhelmed by all the food. It should only take one meal to fill a man's belly. He would not eat tonight anyway. There would be no distractions. No trivial pleasures. Instead, Oruncor received a goblet of wine from a passing servant and spent the evening, standing and brooding, against a pillar near the back of the hall. It was not as if the other guests would offer a seat next to them anyway.

Eventually, the feasting subsided, and the emperor rose from his table and addressed the guests.

"Accompanying all great pleasures, celebrations and victories, come some sacrifices. I must now ask of you all to make that sacrifice, and I promise more pleasures, celebrations and victories will come in the future!"

One by one, the representatives of the various kingdoms approached the high table. The emperor's son, a boy with a shock of golden hair, carried the oathstone upon which all the monarchs would place their left hand while swearing loyalty. The aged Lady of Hogsgust, who was so fat and frail that she could barely stoop low enough to kneel, rejected any form of help as she carried out the ritual. The king of Riotanda, a lean man with light tanned skin, was so eager to display his loyalty that not only did he hold the oathstone with both hands but kissed the Dominian prince's hand as he got up to leave. The flamboyant king of Heron, in addition to pledging his service, presented a gift of one hundred golden roses to Domin.