06-13-2022, 07:10 PM
Eastern Garda Forward Camp, Northeast of Côte-Verte
May 11th, 2022, 9:42 AM
The mood around the Eastern Forward Camp was, needless to say, bleak. The massive losses sustained in the ambush on the western front and the stagnation of any attempted advances had morale sinking by the minute. The only consolations for the weary soldiers were the thin tent to protect them from rain and the battery powered radio providing them music while the occasional shell explosion echoed in the background. A group of soldiers sat on the ground around the small radio box, listening to the soft rock of a decades old Aurian pop song that the new Royal government had approved for use on the radio.
The song suddenly shifted, briefly fading to static before going silent. A nearby Lieutenant sat up, inspecting the radio before giving it a light hit. "Damn piece of shit. They can't even bother to send anything but this relic." The static returned for a moment, before a voice resounded in Eirian. "Attention. Please stand by, some technical difficulties are impeding broadcasting at this time. Moving to secondary broadcast protocol."
The light, relaxed opening to Velitē's fourth symphony played after the message had ended, the sound of multiple flutes flowing through the tent. This rapid change caused the soldiers to sit up quickly, a couple soldiers quickly realizing what the song meant. "Don't they usually play this piece if something major happens?" One of the younger Privates asked, examining the faces of the more experienced officers. The Lieutenant who had hit the radio earlier nodded. "Only if a major disaster happens. Like…"
"Like what?"
"The death of a monarch."
—
Downtown Lumiere, Auria
Thirteen minutes earlier
The series of black limousines slowly turned down the narrow streets of Lumiere, following a back route towards the palace in order to avoid crowds and traffic. People looked down cautiously from their apartments and offices, many pulling the shades quickly. The tension in Lumiere was palpable, with protests and riots breaking out on some of Lumiere's most crowded street corners. As such, it was smarter for important officials to avoid crowded roads and areas, especially in high-profile limousines.
The caravan of cars slowed to a stop in a tight side street, the front car blocked by a large red truck parked across the road. A guard got out of his large black SUV, trying to figure out why there was a car parked in their pre-approved route. "What the hell?! No one's in the vehicle, it's just parked here." He looked over to his partner. "Call a tow truck, and get this piece of shit out of-"
A large explosion resounded from the side of the road, creating a large column of flame that shot straight up. The guard fell forward to the ground, narrowly avoiding being hit by his own SUV that had been flipped on its side. His partner was lying on the ground, motionless and burned. He struggled to his feet, lifting another surviving guard as he ran for the limousines. "Protegiet lei Karalēs! Sei atniet de ič!" He shouted, ordering any guards to get King Andrew out of the street. The burnt wreckage of both limousines filled the street, partially obscuring the bodies of their inhabitants.
The guard ran for the second limousine, looking in the shattered windows for any sign of survivors. An unconscious Andrew Cordonnier was lying on his back, a line of blood trailing down one of his arms. Unable to tell whether his monarch was asleep or dead, the guard pulled the body from the wreck, running for the shelter of a nearby apartment lobby. A few injured guards joined him, their weapons drawn. He counted the survivors, adopting the tone of a commanding officer. "We need to get out of here, now."
—
First Minister Sarah Berenstein stood in the atrium of her townhouse, pacing the shiny granite floors. Any minute now. If these morons mess up our best opportunity in months, they'll live to regret it. Her phone sat in her hand, annoyingly silent to its owner. Did they avoid that route, or leave too early? I gave them all of the right information. Hopefully Andrew didn't stop for one of his arrogant speeches or publicity stunts…
Much to her relieve, the cell phone started vibrating, displaying a long, unknown number. She brought it up to her ear. "Finally. Were you successful, or do I have to begin damage control?"
A deep, monotonous voice answered from the other side of the call. "Package delivery was successful. No need for any corrections. Payment was also received, as agreed. It'll be a pleasure working with you in the future, madame." The line disconnected, leaving a very pleased Berenstein. Farewell, King Andrew. Your fiery spirit was truly your downfall.
May 11th, 2022, 9:42 AM
The mood around the Eastern Forward Camp was, needless to say, bleak. The massive losses sustained in the ambush on the western front and the stagnation of any attempted advances had morale sinking by the minute. The only consolations for the weary soldiers were the thin tent to protect them from rain and the battery powered radio providing them music while the occasional shell explosion echoed in the background. A group of soldiers sat on the ground around the small radio box, listening to the soft rock of a decades old Aurian pop song that the new Royal government had approved for use on the radio.
The song suddenly shifted, briefly fading to static before going silent. A nearby Lieutenant sat up, inspecting the radio before giving it a light hit. "Damn piece of shit. They can't even bother to send anything but this relic." The static returned for a moment, before a voice resounded in Eirian. "Attention. Please stand by, some technical difficulties are impeding broadcasting at this time. Moving to secondary broadcast protocol."
The light, relaxed opening to Velitē's fourth symphony played after the message had ended, the sound of multiple flutes flowing through the tent. This rapid change caused the soldiers to sit up quickly, a couple soldiers quickly realizing what the song meant. "Don't they usually play this piece if something major happens?" One of the younger Privates asked, examining the faces of the more experienced officers. The Lieutenant who had hit the radio earlier nodded. "Only if a major disaster happens. Like…"
"Like what?"
"The death of a monarch."
—
Downtown Lumiere, Auria
Thirteen minutes earlier
The series of black limousines slowly turned down the narrow streets of Lumiere, following a back route towards the palace in order to avoid crowds and traffic. People looked down cautiously from their apartments and offices, many pulling the shades quickly. The tension in Lumiere was palpable, with protests and riots breaking out on some of Lumiere's most crowded street corners. As such, it was smarter for important officials to avoid crowded roads and areas, especially in high-profile limousines.
The caravan of cars slowed to a stop in a tight side street, the front car blocked by a large red truck parked across the road. A guard got out of his large black SUV, trying to figure out why there was a car parked in their pre-approved route. "What the hell?! No one's in the vehicle, it's just parked here." He looked over to his partner. "Call a tow truck, and get this piece of shit out of-"
A large explosion resounded from the side of the road, creating a large column of flame that shot straight up. The guard fell forward to the ground, narrowly avoiding being hit by his own SUV that had been flipped on its side. His partner was lying on the ground, motionless and burned. He struggled to his feet, lifting another surviving guard as he ran for the limousines. "Protegiet lei Karalēs! Sei atniet de ič!" He shouted, ordering any guards to get King Andrew out of the street. The burnt wreckage of both limousines filled the street, partially obscuring the bodies of their inhabitants.
The guard ran for the second limousine, looking in the shattered windows for any sign of survivors. An unconscious Andrew Cordonnier was lying on his back, a line of blood trailing down one of his arms. Unable to tell whether his monarch was asleep or dead, the guard pulled the body from the wreck, running for the shelter of a nearby apartment lobby. A few injured guards joined him, their weapons drawn. He counted the survivors, adopting the tone of a commanding officer. "We need to get out of here, now."
—
First Minister Sarah Berenstein stood in the atrium of her townhouse, pacing the shiny granite floors. Any minute now. If these morons mess up our best opportunity in months, they'll live to regret it. Her phone sat in her hand, annoyingly silent to its owner. Did they avoid that route, or leave too early? I gave them all of the right information. Hopefully Andrew didn't stop for one of his arrogant speeches or publicity stunts…
Much to her relieve, the cell phone started vibrating, displaying a long, unknown number. She brought it up to her ear. "Finally. Were you successful, or do I have to begin damage control?"
A deep, monotonous voice answered from the other side of the call. "Package delivery was successful. No need for any corrections. Payment was also received, as agreed. It'll be a pleasure working with you in the future, madame." The line disconnected, leaving a very pleased Berenstein. Farewell, King Andrew. Your fiery spirit was truly your downfall.
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