cabbagepreacher
patreon
Prologue II – The conflict that he heralded he looks from heaven to view.
🕑 Added 2024-08-09 17:47:40 +0000 UTCYou had better — all you people at the South — prepare yourselves for a settlement of this question, that must come up for settlement sooner than you are prepared for it. The sooner you are prepared the better. You may dispose of me very easily, — I am nearly disposed by now; but this question is still to be settled, — this negro question I mean; the end of that is not yet.
- John Brown, 19th of October 1859, interview given in prison prior to his execution.
12th of April, 1861 3:30 AM
Fort Sumter, South Carolina
It was a cold April night in South Carolina, though the privates manning the fortifications found that the tension building around them was hot enough to make them forget that fact. For weeks they had been under siege by the so-called “Provisional Forces of the Confederate States” of the newly formed “Confederate States of America” with which they had an uneasy truce with. No shots had been fired, no men had died, yet it seemed that war had already begun.
“You think we’ll survive?” asked a private on duty to his comrade standing right next to him on the walls. They held their rifles close, their trigger thinner than hair.
“Depends on whether those hillbillies begin bombardment. If they do, we get shredded to bits. If they don’t, then we starve. Either way, things don’t look too sunny for us.” He kicked a loose brick on the wall. The loose brick fell down and splashed into the Atlantic Ocean beneath and around them. “This fort isn’t even finished. I’ve been garrisoned here for a while, and the guys over in Washington cut the budget to the ground until we got this… big mess. Not that it’d help – we’re less than a hundred guys to the thousands I’ve seen roaming outside the walls.”
The private chuckled, looking up at the stars. In certain death there was at least solitude. “Yeah, that was a stupid question. We can’t even man all the guns here, for the love of…”
“At least that Lincoln should give us the order to attack so we can die an honorable death. We’ve waited here all this time, and what have we achieved but starvation…” His speech was interrupted by an officer passing by. They stopped to look at the man approaching them.
“Bad news. Beauregard has refused our request to evacuate. They have notified to us that they’ll begin bombardment in one hour. Get ready!” The officer sprinted off to notify the rest of the men on the walls.
“An hour?! Jesus Christ…”
“May God have mercy on us.”
It was quiet for a while as the two privates quietly stared into the great sea of darkness in front of them. Out there, in the great stygian void, their upcoming death lay in the barrels of many a cannon.
“So, this is it.” said the private. “I guess we’re the first one to die in this war.”
“Maybe not. I’d say this whole thing started when John Brown raided Harper’s Ferry.”
“John…” The private paused to think about the name. “Ah, I remember that crazy man! Maybe we’d be in peace if he didn’t decide to get up to his nonsense.”
“Eh, I’d say that he only sped up the inevitable. The Southerners disposed of him, but they can’t dispose all the abolitionists in the North.” He took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “Those Confederates are about to do their best at attempting that though.”
“Ah…” The private crossed himself several times, though one of his hands always had to be busy holding the rifle so it wasn’t a proper cross. “Good God…”
The next hour was spent with prayer and anxiety for the residents of the fort. 4:30 AM came, slow as it felt to come, and a single mortar shell exploded over the fort. He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword, and the first shot of the American Civil War had just been shot. Receiving their signal to fire, the entire Confederate forces around Fort Sumter began their bombardment in full.
Soon Fort Sumter would fall, but the Union would not.
69th of Summer 5859
Periligoul, Union of Elves
It was a summer night in Periligoul, far from cold but it was still pleasantly breezy thanks to Lake Fairy the Elven settlement was located right next to. Normally a region devoid of visitors save from those wishing to make their way to the dwarves over at Zon’guldac, Periligoul was seeing quite the unusual caravan today: an Imperial delegation from the capital.
“Thank God that this isn’t a long trip. I can’t believe they have a bunch of these so-called ‘elves’ right next door.” said Spear, making his way on a fancy palanquin carried by slaves at the center of the caravan. He stretched himself on the embroidered silk, making himself comfortable while taking a peek out of the curtains of his ride. There seemed to be no city or settlement if he took a brief peek. Looking more closely, and most importantly upwards, one could see an elaborate network of houses and bridges on the gargantuan trees that surrounded the road. It was an architectural marvel, one that Spear would definitely study closer in his spare time. In turn the elves standing on the bridges, who were nothing but a vague humanoid blur from such a distance, were studying Spear and his delegation. There was an air of tension in the air, but Spear ignored it as he was the one comfortably sitting in the palanquin. What he couldn’t ignore was his ride stopping when they reached their destination.
The doors were opened for Spear by his servants, and he came upon one great tree upon exiting his ride. It was a tree at least a hundred meters tall, as thick as ten men standing shoulder to shoulder, and with thick leaves that covered the view of the heavens. The trunk of the tree was covered with symbols and decorations that were unfamiliar to anyone in the caravan. At the top of the tree stood a grand wooden structure, to which led a long ladder that was a hassle to climb. Swearing to invent elevators as soon as possible, Spear climbed the ladders with his procession.
At the top, Spear finally saw elves closely. Two of them were guarding the entrance to the grand building with their bows, and they eyed him suspiciously. These elves were over two meters tall, with lanky bodies that only had muscles in their arms for shooting. Their skin looked so white that one could think that no blood circulated in their body, and their hair was equally light. The elven guards stepped aside to let the procession enter the building, their wooden plates of armor clanking as they moved.
Inside the grand building continued to impress. The floors were made of wood inlaid with gold and silver to weave intricate patterns. Every inch of wall was covered with rugs all equally fancy, and a chandelier in the middle of the ceiling lit it all up. At the end of the room was the most important part: a grand throne, with a grand elf sitting on it. She wore a dress that Spear likened to a green Roman toga, and on her head was a golden wreath with flowers attached to it. She was flanked by two servants who were fanning her to keep her cool.
“Greetings.” The elven chieftainess remained seated in front of the Imperial procession. “What brings humans to my court?”
“Greetings, Chieftainess Tinatin Leafblower. I am Imperial Architect Albert Spear, acting as liaison of His Imperial Majesty Glory XXI Earlyriser.” He gave a formal bow. The elf in front of him was blue-eyed, and blond.
“What business do the Imperials have here? It has been… almost a millennium since any delegation has come from the Empire? I don’t know about my predecessors, but I haven’t seen any delegations during my reign.”
“Well, let’s just say that… things are about to change in the Empire, and we need good Aryan blood like yours. Tall, blond, blue eyes… yes, I think it’s clear that the elves are of a pure and noble blood.”
Leafblower had her interest piqued. She rose up from her throne. “What does that mean?”
Spear tied his hands to his back and began pacing around the room. “We have a few proposals; I assure you that they are all beneficial to you and your realm. You reunite the elven chiefdoms under your leadership, drive those pesky dwarves out of their mountain home, the Empire gives you full support during all of the aforementioned, and in exchange you help smooth His Imperial Majesty’s reign and crush a little slave rebellion in the west of Gemeinplatz.”
“Is that all? Just help your emperor and crush some rebellion and finally get the dwarves off our nose?” Leafblower looked at Spear with suspicion, but she couldn’t help but be tempted by such a good deal. “We haven’t gone to war since time immemorial.”
“Is that so? I heard that you did an excellent job exterminating the dark elves.” Spear took out a scroll from his robe. “Your people have a warlike spirit which has been suppressed by the elites in the Empire, and those dwarven merchants who tempt you with their goods.” His speech suddenly got louder and fierier. “Oh, those dwarves! They are like the Juden, rats hiding in their caves and swimming in their gold while looking down on all of us! Wouldn’t it be excellent to get rid of them, my lady? To restore your people to glory?”
Leafblower opened the scroll to find an Imperial decree written, signed, and stamped by the emperor himself. It declared Leafblower to be “Supreme Chieftain of All Elves Gemeinplatz”. The March of Zon’guldac, a new title created by this decree, was also conferred to her. “What the…” There would definitely be a price to this grace bestowed upon her by the Empire, but could she refuse such an offer? “I- I can’t-”,
“These titles have already been conferred to you, o’ Marchioness Tinatin Leafblower of Zon’guldac, First of Her Name. Whether you act on your claims or not is up to you.” Spear had a sly smile. Of course, nobody could get such a prestigious title without acting on it. He had learned how to tempt men with grand titles from his beloved Leader. “His Imperial Majesty trusts that you’ll keep the peace in your march, and his doors are open to your delegates if you are in need of help. That is all.”
Spear turned and left the room without another word. He didn’t look back to see Leafblower’s expression, but he knew of the effect that he had.
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift pen, and the first shot of the Northern Gemeinplatz War had been shot.
