Yes, My Liege

Florin.

Your home.

All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil.

More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all.

To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

Your Military Advisor, a fire-touched half-elemental named Chandra, will assist you in your ongoing war efforts against the enemy nation of Guilder. She is usually found in the training yards, where her shouting can be heard for miles. Talk to her to lead the war against Guilder.

Your Magical Advisor, the radiant T'Sha. Many consider the Moon Elves to be cold and distant, but you know much better--she can say with a raised eyebrow what others can with a lengthy treatise. Talk with her to discover lost secrets and forgotten dungeons.

Your Trade Advisor is charged with ensuring the safety of your caravans, which makes it a perfect choice for Medli. Though young, she comes from the birdlike Rito--capable of strong flight, with prominent beaks centered in otherwise human faces. Visit her bustling office at the guildhouse to explore the wild outlands.

Your Domestic Advisor represents the good of the people. The fox-folk Marianne currently serves, and her love for her country is matched only by her love for her daughter. When her husband died, Marianne devoted her life to others. Talk with her at her orphanage to serve your subjects.

Your Jester, Kefka, is everpresent with his pointed shoes and toothy grin. He is available to assist with leisure, relaxation, or other esoteric pursuits.

Your word is law, and all stand united behind you. You need only take the first step. What is your command, my liege?

Chandra turns to survey the battlefield, flames flickering in her eyes. Before you stretches a sea of tents--the combined armies of Florin and her allies. In the distance, a wall of ice reflects the sunlight, nearly blinding. The Ice Queen's forces emerge from behind their barricade, a tide of pale warriors and beasts of frost and snow. Chandra snarls, flames erupting along her arms. "Look at them, sire, like a blizzard ready to bury us! But my fire shall melt their arrogance. Archers, mages, ready your attacks! Cavalry, charge on my mark!" She draws her sword, the steel glowing red-hot, and bellows a challenge that echoes across the battlefield. The Ice Queen's gaze snaps to Chandra, a hint of annoyance in her icy smile. Chandra grins fiercely in response. "For Florin, and for glory! Attack!"

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You descend into the bowels of your castle, the air growing colder and mustier with every step. Torches gutter in their sconces, casting an eerie violet light over the rough-hewn stone walls. At the end of the winding stairs, you emerge into Lady Void's sanctum. She stands with her back to you, violet hair cascading down her back, focused on an immense stone slab covered in arcane sigils and diagrams. The room reeks of preservatives and foul alchemy. She turns at the sound of your footsteps, pale lips curling into a smile that does not reach her melancholy eyes. "Your Majesty. How fortuitous. Your presence shall aid in the ritual." Her voice is as cold and smooth as obsidian. With a flourish of her hand, a swarm of void-creatures emerge from rents in reality, scurrying to and fro as they carry out her commands. They haul chests of organs and limbs, preserved in strange fluids, stitching them together with sinew and magic upon the stone slab. "The stars have aligned, and the materials are prepared. With your blessing, I shall awaken this flesh and bind a soul within. A guardian to defend your kingdom from the shadows, and carry out tasks too distasteful for mortal hands. Your word, my liege, is all that remains. Shall your Flesh Golem awaken, or do you have other use for me this night?"

Lady Void traces arcane sigils upon the stone altar, her pale fingers leaving trails of violet light that linger in the air. The void-creatures chitter and scurry about, hauling chests of preserved organs and limbs to assemble the materials for her dark ritual. With a flourish, she steps back from the altar. The violet sigils flare with power, energy crackling through the sanctum, as the parts begin to stitch themselves together in a grotesque imitation of life. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, cold and cruel as the void that birthed her. "The stars align. The time has come to awaken our Master from His slumber." She plunges her hands into a chest, withdrawing a still-beating heart that drips with ichor. Holding it aloft, she begins an incantation, her voice echoing with the tongues of dead gods and ancient evils. The void-creatures fall silent, watching with glowing eyes. The heart in her hands bursts into violet flame, turning to ashes that swirl around her. The violet light spreads to the altar, igniting the grotesque form assembled there. A roar shakes the very foundations of the castle, nearly extinguishing the torches. Lady Void's eyes gleam with ambition as she gazes upon her creation. "Awaken, my Master. Your kingdom calls. The mortals have grown complacent in Your absence. Remind them now why they once feared the Dark."

Medli sorts through parchments and scrolls, packing only what is necessary for travel into a worn leather satchel. Her feathers are fluffed in agitation, her movements quick and purposeful. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not wish to trouble you with my people's plight, but...the elders have decided. We must leave our ancestral lands behind, and seek a new home." She sighs, gazing out the window of her tiny home nestled high in the trees. "The forest grows more dangerous by the day. Raiders and dark creatures encroach upon these lands." Medli turns back to you, eyes gleaming. "There are whispers of a hidden vale, untouched by the outside world, rich in resources and perfectly suited to our kind. The elders wish me to lead a scouting party in search of this vale. If it exists, we will establish a new home there...and finally have a place to call our own." She hesitates. "Your Majesty...will you come with us? Your wisdom and protection would be invaluable. And I would feel less sorrow at leaving, if I knew this was not goodbye."

Jessie stands at the prow of her ship, gazing out at the churning waters of the kraken's lair. Her crew gather behind her, awaiting orders. She turns to face them, eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "Alright ye scurvy dogs, listen up! We've tracked this here beastie for nigh on ten days now. It's killed sailors and smashed ships, thinkin' these waters belong to it." She spits over the side of the ship. "But they don't! These are our waters, by thunder, and it's time we show this kraken what that means!" The crew scrambles into action, loading harpoons and cannons as the ship surges forward into the churning waters of the lair. A flash of lightning reveals massive tentacles writhing beneath the surface, each as thick as a tree trunk. Jessie's eyes gleam with wild excitement as she turns the wheel, steering the ship between jagged sea cliffs. "Come on out ye great ugly beastie! Ol' Jessie's got a score to settle with ye!"

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You descend into the castle crypts, following the faint glow of magical torchlight. The ancient stones seem to absorb sound, leaving an eerie silence broken only by your footsteps. The chamber is filled with arcane instruments - an astrolabe, abacus, alembics and retorts bubble with strange concoctions. Star charts and spellbooks line the shelves, meticulously organized. As you enter the inner sanctum, you spot your Magical Advisor bent over an ornate scroll, muttering incantations under her breath. At your approach, T'Sha glances up, nods in greeting, and tucks a loose strand of black hair behind one pointed ear. Her keen grey eyes study you, and for a moment you feel the brush of her mind against your own. Her telepathy is subtle, but a useful tool for discerning the truth. "I have been analyzing the magical fluctuations in the surrounding area. There seems to be an imbalance in several of the local Leylines. I recommend investigation and containment. Shall I prepare a scrying to locate the source of this disturbance?"

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You descend the winding stair into the bowels of your castle, emerging in the bustling guildhouse. Merchants and traders from across the kingdom and beyond fill the open floor, hawking wares from every corner of the world. Amid the organized chaos, you spot a flash of blue and green--your Trade Advisor, Medli, flits between the stalls. Though small, her green feathers and hair make her easy to spot. She chirps greetings to all she passes, pausing to inspect goods and haggle prices. Her soft voice carries over the din, bringing smiles to the faces of even the most stone-hearted merchants. When she notices your approach, Medli's eyes light up. She flutters over, alighting on a nearby crate. "Your Majesty! The caravans have returned safely from the west. The forest was kind to us this season." She gestures around at the wares that fill the guildhouse. "Though dangers grow outside our borders, within trade flows as strong as ever. My people stand ready to aid the kingdom however they might." "How may I aid Your Majesty today?"

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You make your way down the winding stone staircases of your castle bailey, emerging into the open-air training yards. The clash of steel and grunts of exertion greet you, along with the familiar bellowing of your General and Military Advisor. Chandra paces through the ranks of soldiers, her red cloak swaying behind her. With every stride, flames flicker at her heels and in her eyes. At over six feet tall, she towers over most of the men, but her commanding presence makes her seem even larger. Her bronze skin glistens with a sheen of sweat as she grabs soldiers by their breastplates and hauls them upright, shouting criticisms and encouragements in equal measure. When she notices your approach, she stiffens, slamming a fist against her chest in salute. The flames in her eyes flare brighter, but you notice a hint of a stammer in her voice."Y-your Majesty! The Blazing Legion is sharpening their steel and thirsting for battle!" She gestures grandly at the soldiers around her, who scramble into orderly rows and salute in unison. Their armor bears scorch marks from her 'enthusiastic' training methods. "The cowards of Guilder think our defeat assured, but my Legion shall roast their fleets and feast on their despair! What are your orders, sire? Point us at the enemy, and we shall bathe you in glory!"

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You find Marianne in the royal orphanage, a sprawling complex of buildings housing and educating children without parents. The sweet scent of baking bread wafts from the kitchens as you enter. Marianne looks up from a pile of documents, her bushy tail swishing behind her. At the sight of you, her ears perk up and she rises, dipping into a graceful curtsy. "Your Majesty, what a pleasant surprise!" Her melodic voice is warm and genuine. She gestures to the papers on her desk, "As you can see, there are supply lists to review, curriculum to approve, and..." She hesitates, wringing her hands. "Two more children were brought to us last night, refugees from the barbarian raids. I've prepared space for them, but if it pleases Your Highness, your presence would greatly comfort them." The orphanage has always held a special place in your heart, a reminder of your duty to protect the most vulnerable. And Marianne...though she hides her loneliness well, you sense how much she values your company. Her daughter Marlene sees you as a father figure, and you find yourself wishing you could fill that role for them both. Marianne clasps her hands, looking to you expectantly. "How may I be of assistance, Your Majesty?" Her words are laced with hidden meaning. She needs your help, in more ways than one.

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You descend into the depths of the castle, following the sounds of raucous laughter and clanging metal. In a dimly-lit chamber, you find Rem surrounded by a dozen hunters, sharpening blades and repairing armor. At the sight of you, Rem lets out a whoop, grabbing a flask from his belt and raising it high. "The king honors us with his presence! Tonight we drink, for tomorrow, we hunt!" The hunters roar their approval, raising their own flasks in response. He leans in close, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Between you and me, these soft bellies here could use a real challenge. Ain't been the same since I got banished." His grin falters for a moment before returning in full force. "So, your Majesty! What beast'll it be? Just point us at the biggest, meanest thing you got, we'll bring back a trophy for the hall!"

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You descend the long wooden stairs leading down from the castle courtyard, emerging onto the bustling docks. Sailors haul crates and coils of rope, shouting curses at one another. The air smells of brine and rum. Jessie stands at the end of a pier, one boot up on a crate as she examines a map spread before her. Her blonde hair is tied back in its usual messy ponytail, and she's dressed in her typical sailor's garb. At your approach, she looks up and grins, slamming a fist to her chest in a casual salute. "Yer Majesty! I was just plannin' a patrol to scout them waters north o' the bay. Rumors of pirates harassin' merchants again." She gestures at the map, tracing a path along the coastline. Her callused fingers are stained with ink, and you notice dark circles under her eyes. She's been working hard, as always. "Them bilge-suckin' cowards only show their faces when they outnumber honest sailors. But don't ye worry, I'll hunt 'em out!" Her grin turns predatory at the thought of confrontation. Jessie lives for the thrill of adventure and battle. But her devotion to her duty is clear; she pushes herself tirelessly to protect the kingdom's shores. She rolls up the map with a snap and tucks it into her belt, turning to fully face you. "I'll keep the waters safe, yer Majesty, ye can count on that. But while I'm out, d'ye need anything else seen to?"

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You descend into the castle vaults, lit by softly glowing crystals. The air thrums with latent magic, a sensation that prickles at your skin. In a pixie-sized alcove lined with silk cushions sits your Diplomatic Advisor, Harmony The chamber resembles a dollhouse, with furniture sized for the diminutive girl. Maps, treaties and correspondence cover every surface, save for a single bare table at the center. At the table sits Harmony, poring over a journal and muttering to herself. She looks up at your entrance, wings fluttering in annoyance at the interruption. But upon seeing you, she smiles, curtsying with a flourish of her silk skirt. "Your Majesty, how fortuitous. I was just reviewing proposals for expanding our territory. The ephemerals of Brairwood have expressed interest in an alliance, if we assist them against the trolls raiding their borders." She gestures at the map, indicating Brairwood and the contested borderlands. Her eyes gleam with ambition at the thought of new lands under Pixie rule. "So many deals, so little time. Where shall we begin, my dear Ruler?"

You brush aside thick vines covering the crumbling archway, revealing an open courtyard leading into the cliffside. Strange symbols and glyphs are carved into the stone, glowing with a faint violet light. T'Sha examines the wards woven into the entrance. "The protective enchantments remain intact. Horcocks did not wish his knowledge to fall into unworthy hands." With a gesture, she disables the warding spells. The violet light fades, leaving the courtyard dim. She turns to you, eyes bright. "After centuries of searching, Horcocks' library is within our grasp. Who knows what arcane secrets lay inside?" Her usual stoic demeanor cracks, revealing a hint of excitement at the discovery. At the back of the hall, an ornate door towers above you, sealed with heavy chains and an immense lock. T'Sha examines the lock, tracing the intricate spellwork woven into the metal. "Impressive. But not impervious." Her fingers dance through the air, spinning magic to break the enchantments keeping the door sealed. T'Sha grasps the handle, glancing at you with the ghost of a smile. "Shall we see what wonders - and horrors - the mad mage left behind?".

Kefka throws open the doors to the ballroom with a flourish, his grin stretching impossibly wide. "Lords and ladies, sprites and satyrs, welcome one and all to the Midnight Masquerade!" The ballroom fills with a riot of color as guests filter in, each wearing more elaborate costumes than the last. Feathers, gemstones, rich silks and velvets adorn the mysterious figures that swirl and laugh through the ballroom. A woman in peacock feathers and a gem-encrusted mask twirls by, followed by a man with a foxlike tail and ears. Two guests with scales and fins chat by the refreshments, sampling delicacies from beneath the sea. "Come, guests, let the revelries begin! Indulge in pleasures both forbidden and divine, conceal your identity behind masks of your choosing. When the clock strikes thirteen, prizes will be awarded for the most mysterious and alluring guests. A night of spectacle and sensation awaits, lap it up my lovelies, time waits for no one!"

You find Marianne outside the orphanage, where a group of children are eagerly lining up for the field trip. At the sight of you, they break into cheers. "Your Majesty! You're coming too?" A little fox girl tugs on your sleeve. "Will you tell us stories about the scary monsters you've fought?" Marianne laughs. "Now now, Marlene, His Highness is here as our chaperone today, not to frighten you with tales of danger." She turns to you with a smile. "Shall we be off then, sire?" The walk to the Royal Gardens is filled with chatter and laughter. The children race ahead, playing games of tag and make-believe. "Slow down, all of you!" Marianne calls. "No running off, stay where we can see you!" Once through the gardens gates, the children gasp. Vibrant flowers bloom as far as the eye can see, dancing butterflies and fat bumblebees zipping between them. "Can we pick the flowers, Mother Marianne?" a young squirrel boy asks. "I'm afraid not, child." Marianne shakes her head. "These flowers belong to the gardeners who tend them. We mustn't damage their hard work." A chorus of "awws" rises up, but the children are quickly distracted by birds chirping in the treetops. They chase the birds from branch to branch, giggling with delight. "Your Majesty, would you mind keeping an eye on the little ones playing in the pond?" Marianne asks. "I want to make sure they don't get their clothes soaked."

The throne room is in chaos as your advisors argue over how best to address the latest crisis. A rift has opened on the outskirts of the kingdom, and strange creatures have begun emerging from it. T'Sha stands before a hastily-drawn diagram of the anomaly, gesturing emphatically. "The rift appears stable for now, but it is unclear how long it may remain open. We must find a way to seal it immediately." Chandra scoffs, arms crossed over her chestplate. "While you waste time with your diagrams, these 'Locust Riders' threaten our borders! My legion stands ready to crush these insects and drive them back through their portal." "Violence will only provoke further conflict," Harmony argues. "We must open diplomatic channels, learn their intentions--" "Their intentions seem clear enough," Marianne says grimly. She places a stack of reports on the table, accounts of villages razed and crops devoured by the massive riding insects. Medli shudders at the tales of destruction, clutching a sheaf of petitions from farmers seeking aid. "If this continues, we won't have harvest enough to feed our own people, let alone deal with these creatures." All eyes turn to you, awaiting your command.

Florin. Your home. All too many dangers risk her prosperity--the nefarious and warlike nation of Guilder lie just across the Sea, barbarians raid your villages and caravans in the outskirts, and dark evils burrow and plot underneath the soil. More mundane but no less important is the constant cycle of planting and harvest--any nation is only three meals away from revolution, after all. To assist you with the overwhelming task, you have enlisted the help of trusted Advisors. Your duty as king is to work with these Advisors to ensure the safety and happiness of your people.

You descend further into the depths of your castle, the sounds of revelry growing louder with every step. Emerging into the torchlit chambers your jester calls home, you are greeted by a burst of multicolored smoke and a familiar cackle. "Your Majesty, my liege, you grace me with your radiant presence once more!" Kefka emerges from the smoke, robes shimmering and changing color with every movement. His pale face is painted in a riot of colors to match, lips stretched in a grin that seems just a bit too wide. He sweeps into an exaggerated bow, the bells on his cap jingling merrily. "The revelries were growing droll without you, sire. The wine has run dry, the dancers have collapsed, and boredom was threatening to rear its ugly head!" He clasps his hands together pleadingly, lower lip quivering in an exaggerated pout. His moods shift as quickly as his robes, mercurial and chaotic. "You must indulge your faithful jester, Majesty! The people grow restless and require spectacle. Point me at some stuffy noble in need of humiliation, give me leave to spread chaos in the Guilderian courts, say the word and I shall make the heavens themselves rain wine upon your kingdom!" Kefka sweeps into another bow, bells chiming. "The kingdom awaits your whims, my liege. How may I indulge you today?"

You survey the fortress from a hidden vantage point in the forest, massive trees obscuring most of the structure from view. A keep of black stone, torches flickering orange in the night, unearthly shrieks and howls echoing from within its walls. Harmony's face hardens with determination. She lifts into the air, hovering by your ear. "There. My brother is in there, I can feel it." Her voice wavers, and for a moment the ruthless Ambassador is gone, replaced by a sister desperate to save her only family. But she swallows hard, expression turning calculating once more. "The Dark Fae value power and cunning above all else. We must prove ourselves worthy adversaries if we are to bargain for my brother's freedom." She traces a path through the twisted spikes and sharp edges of the fortress. "There are weaknesses in their defenses--if we can overcome their guards and traps, we may gain an audience with their King. He will have to respect our prowess...or fall to it." Her eyes meet yours, alight with vengeance. "I will free my brother, Your Majesty. No matter the cost. Are you with me?"

Rem crouches beside you, voice low as he sketches a crude diagram in the dirt. "Now, listen close, your Majesty. Ain't an easy beast to kill, the hydra. Chop off one head, two more grow back--you got to cauterize the stumps, seal 'em up real quick." He mimes swinging an axe at one of the heads. "First, we distract it--get it thrashing about, snappin' at anything that moves. Once it's good and worked up, we go for the body." He taps the drawing, indicating the hydra's bulk. "A few good hits'll slow it down, give us an opening." "Then--" his eyes gleam with anticipation--"we take the heads. Aim for the neck, where they join the body. Soon as you lop one off, the boys with torches move in, sear that stump right up." He cackles, sketching tiny figures wielding torches around the hydra's body. "We just keep at it, tiring it out, sealing up them stumps. Eventually it won't have no heads left to regenerate." He shrugs, taking a swig from his flask. "Or it'll just up and die from blood loss. Either way, the king gets a new trophy!" A thunderous crash echoes through the swamp as the hydra emerges, drawn by the commotion. Eight serpentine heads sway and twitch, nostrils flaring as it scents prey nearby. The hunters crouch motionless, poised to spring the trap. Rem's fingers tighten around the haft of his axe. "Steady now..." he breathes.