NationStates Jolt Archive

The return of Lady Viannor (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Lady_Viannor) to Starblaydia (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Starblaydia) had not been an easy one. On board the Starblaydi Frigate Iceni, her entire voyage back from Assington had been below deck. Slowly she was beginning to get used to the fact that she would not see the sun with her own eyes again. This was the life that had been forced upon her, ripped from the under the very nose of Death himself by a vampire named Stephen Malone.

That fateful night she had been sired had proved to be the first of a perhaps an eternal number of nights, should she be careful enough not to die in some unforeseen way. In her cabin, portholes now blacked-out to prevent the Sun's deadly rays from destroying her, Viannor had sat and brooded during her new nocturnal existence. The world at large did not know of creatures like her save in fiction, and she wished for it to remain that way. She had nearly been hunted down in Emerald City already and did not wish for a repeat occurance.

One word had been clear in her mind since she discovered her newfound un-life as one of the dead. Power. Throughout her life she had craved and sought it, and now even greater power could be attained and wielded, thanks to the 'gifts' she had been given.

Enhanced speed, strength, sight, hearing and other senses were the most obvious abilities she now had, Basic telepathy and even telekinesis were within her grasp now. Sitting on the ceiling, she found, was an unusual experience but a worthwhile one. Being able to pick up a pen from her desk with only her mind was another excellent achievement. As for the telepathy, she was instinctively attuned to Stephen, her sire. It had taken many nautical miles before she could feel truly distanced from him.

The downsides? Merely being unable to be touched by the Sun's rays and a desperate need to feed on fresh blood were the two main ones she could think of. Not being able to wear silver jewelry without burning herself was a minor irritant, soon to be fixed by white gold when she returned. Returning to her position as the Chief-Quaestor of the Starblaydi Inquisition would yield more opportunities than anything else. Where could she go from here? She was on the Lord-Protector's elite Council and controlled a vast army of agents, Inquisitors, Police and practically a private army - one of administration, intelligence, political power and combat - was at her disposal. There was only one further step she could take.

Long nights she sat and schemed on the route back to Samosisos until finally she had it. She, Viannor, would be the name on the lips of the people, the face on the banners that hung in every public square and building. A creature of the night would protect Starblaydia from everything else that the dark unleashed in waves of terror. But not yet...

The rain had stopped during the mid-afternoon, but that hadn't dampened the spirits of any of the regular clientele of L108, one of Jhanna's most exclusive nightclubs. If your name wasn't down and you didn't look hot or rich enough, not only were you not coming in but you were also likely to be beaten up in back street somewhere just for your insolence.

It was a rich-kids playground, where the young, the rich and the beautiful gathered to congratulate themselves on those three acheivements. Out on the street, where neon and tungsten lights reflected off the road's surface like a gaudy mirror, a long black car pulled up right outside the door. The super-black paint job seemed to drink in the light around it like black hole, while the shiny chrome alloys - still spinning - shone like jewels in the night.

A burly Doorman quickly trotted over to the rear door, knowing exactly who was inside. As the suicide-door swung open the Doorman said 'Good evening, my Lady, welcome to one-oh-eights,' just loud enough for his microphone to pick it up and transmit it to all security personnel in and around the building. Lady Viannor was arriving.

Her boots were the first thing to swing gracefully out of the car, followed by Viannor herself, clad in a long, dark coat. She stared straight ahead, ignoring the looks from the ordinary mortals queueing at the door. Walking straight inside, she dispensed with her coat and tossed it to one of the Doormen. He would know what to do with it, if he knew his job. Wearing a short black skirt and a flowing red halterneck top that occasionally covered up more than it revealed, her long, thin white gold jewelry showed just how many Credits she had: more than anyone else in the club.

Looking straight ahead she strode into the nightclub, seemingly vibrating with the deep baseline of whatever hip-hop style tune was being played by the frankly gorgeous female DJ. Viannor raised her eyebrows at the thought and carried on walking, ignoring the stares from the men around her. Ascending a small flight of stairs that took her to the next level of the club, a mezzanine that ran around the entire club. The walls on this second level appeared to be mirrored, but the trick was that the windows were two-way glass. Behind each section was a private room, sound-proofed against the harshness of the bass and treble outside. Viannor glared at yet another burly man who guarded a door. He opened it inwards and stepped aside to let her pass.

Viannor stepped into the room and the door shut swiftly behind her, cutting the music to a muffled whisper. Four men, suited and booted, were in the room, one sitting with a drink and the other three standing and pointing pistols at her.

"Lady Viannor," the sitting man said, "I didn't think you were this stupid."

"Oh please," Viannor tossed her bag onto the nearest available part of the soda, "are you idiots even aware who owns this place?"

With no answer forthcoming, Viannor grabbed a packet of cigarettes from the glass table and pinched one, along with a lighter.

"Well, Democ-rats, that owner would be me." She lit her cigarette and threw the lighter away with a flick of her wrist. She inspected the blazing tip and took a second drag. "And you're not going to be able to leave this room without being gunned down in a bloody yet satisfying shoot-out. So put the guns down, boys, and listen."

"I want you to kick up some fuss. I know what you people do, because I read about it and send other people out to stop you every damn day. I want to see chaos."

"Chaos we can do for you," their leader obviously enjoyed being asked for something by the second most-powerful person in the land, even if she could have him murdered with a single word, "but I'm not risking my best activists on your whim. I need guarantees, if you're serious."

"I'm deadly serious," Viannor stepped back, "I will let you have the leeway you need and will contact you through the same method as for this meeting. Then you can create some anarchy for our most-benevolent Lord Protector."

Viannor whirled and strode out into the noise of the club.

And from that anarchy, she thought, will come order. My order.

Another dreary night in Ionia. It wasn't supposed to rain this often, the lone Police Officer thought as he turned his collar up yet again to shield the back of his neck from cold fingertips of rain. At least the only reason he was cold, he thought to himself, was because he was soaked through to the bone. Had it been windy this night he'd have frozen in place somewhere. He walked past a car, parked at the side of the road. Inside the occupant stared back out at him with wide white eyes.

He touched rim of his baseball cap by way of a salute to the citizen and carried on walking down the pavement along his usual patrol. Barely ten steps further on the alarm bells were going off in his mind. Within another twenty paces he'd stopped at a street corner under a set of traffic lights. He stood and pondered in the pouring rain, a car going past at the junction on a green light. Before it had turned through amber to red, he had turned and was walking back towards the car.

There was no-one in the driver's seat, as there had been before. He'd obviously got out, the sound of the door and his steps drowned out by the falling rain. Drowned, the officer thought, typical. As he got to the car he checked it over, shining his torch inside the car. Nothing of note in there, just a beaten-up old car. There was, however, an alleyway just off the road. He tried looking down there.

Before him was the man with his whiter-than-white eyes, a spray can in hand and a template of cardboard to spray with, whatever the pattern was. It was designed to be out of the way but visible to anyone walking or driving by.

"Hold it right there!" He yelled over the rain. "Police! Don't move."

The man flinched and stopped spraying. His eyes narrowed.

"You weren't supposed to be here."

The officer went to draw his gun, but he never saw what hit him. A second man, pistol in hand, shot him in the back. Shivering on the cold, wet ground, there was nothing the officer could do any more to stop the men.

The spraying continued, a message scrawled on the wall. The two men left, it might have been silently but the Policeman couldn't hear them. He could only look up and see two things on the wall. A bright green symbol on the wall, long and looped. There were also words that he could make out, despite his failing senses.

BREAK THE CHAIN

The policeman was drowning, the bullet had passed through his rapidly collapsing lungs, which were swiftly filling up with his own blood. Drowning, on a night like this. Typical. He knew no more.

"Why are you desperate to show me this at night?" Tiberius yelled over the helicopter's intercom.

"Because it looks great!" Viannor replied, yelling back. Outside the windows of the 'copter was what seemed like an endless sea of black, puncuated here and there by a light. But there was one set of lights that stood out, one that they headed towards.

As the chopper came in to land, Tiberius stared out of the window. Illuminated before him by artistically-placed lights was a great ancient castle, jutting out of the lush green pasture, surrounded by trees.

Quickly they got out of the helicopter and jogged away from it, allowing the craft to take off again and leave the pair of them in peace. They were not alone, of course, the two most-important people in Starblaydia today couldn't just walk around in the open at night. They were surrounded by stragetically placed and hidden Venators, never mind the naval fleets and air patrols out of sight of the pair.

"Beautiful, isnt it?" Viannor asked, not taking her eyes off her Lord-Protector.

"I didn't know they made castles like this in Aquiliana," Tiberius said, obviously impressed, "but i know you too well, Vi, why have you brought me here?"

"I... I want it!" she exclaimed with glee, taking his hand in hers.

"No kidding," he replied with a smile.

"You said I could have a place of my own, when we took this island. And I want this place."

Tiberius looked up at the great stone walls and turrets, lit with orange- and yellow- coloured lights. He pictured it in the daytime, and pictured Viannor wandering the high battlements. He figured she'd be at home here, particularly with her recent moods. Besides, she'd only be a helicopter ride away. He looked back down at her.

"Well?" She asked, half-knowing the answer.

"It's yours." She hugged him. "You can raise your children in this, and their children, for..."

"Eternity." she finised his sentence for him.

Her heels clicked along the ornate, cold, stone floor of the cathedral, braziers gently burning incense, the flames of candles fluttering softly as she passed by. Viannor's long black coat flowed behind with each step as she passed the wooden pews to the altar.

Gaudy, she thought, gold and white everywhere. Not an ounce of taste in the entire Nemyan Church.

Viannor stared up at the figure of Christ, a badly-enameled being nailed to a wooden and gold cross with a golden crown of thorns. Lifesize, too. She spat in its direction.

"Would I be like this if I had followed you. Huh?" She flung her arms out to the side and yelled. "Would I?!"

In a single bound she leapt the fifteen feet or so to the statue, landing with her legs wrapped around the waist of the saviour, some twenty feet off the ground. Her fingers closed tight around the throat of the statue.

"Can you save me, can anyone?" Her eyes burned with hatred. "You're supposed to be the saviour, aren't you? You don't exist. Do you?"

The statue only stared soulessly back, seeing through and beyond her.

"Bastard!" Viannor screamed and decapitated the image of Christ with a single vicious backhand strike. Her cry echoed through to the high, domed roof of the cathedral as the head shattered into chunks of stone on the floor. She dropped down onto the floor and ripped the entire visage off the wall to send it crashing down onto the floor, cracking the ornate patterns on the stone and breaking the body of Christ into several chunks.

Viannor whirled and swept the altar clear of artefacts, cloth and candles. The flame of the candle soon ignited the ancient bone-dry cloth and it began to burn furiously on the floor. Instinctively, Viannor stepped away from it. Fire was just one of her many deadly enemies now.

"What in God's name are you..." A small, frail voice behind her broke the silence.

Viannor turned slowly, catching her breath. There before her stood Iretta Jinx, the most-high figurehead of the Holy Church of Nemya. A small woman who had once held the whole power of the former land of Nemya in her tiny frail hands. Now they only carried a long walking staff to aid the old woman on her way.

"Your Holiness," Viannor sneered, "your trinkets break so easily."

"Daemon!" Jinx raised a boney finger and pointed it at Lady Viannor as if it was some sort of holy gun. Viannor merely responded with a slap that knocked the old woman to the floor. Jinx raised her walking stick to fend off her attacker and Viannor grasped the ornate cross that was built into the handle.

Viannor screamed and drew her hand back, her flesh feeling like it was on fire. A searing pain where she had gripped the cross. A silver cross. Viannor snarled and composed herself, before ripping out the throat of the old woman on the floor below her with a single swipe of her hand.

Jinx died quickly, as the fire spread quickly from the altar's cloth to curtains and screens. Viannor was already feeling the heat and had to get out. She flicked open her mobile phone and dialled a number from memory.

"Viannor here, I need some clean-up... Yes, a 'Chain Gang' would be a good idea."

"It's been the customary seven days since the horrific death of Her Holiness Iretta Jinx." Saianne DeJardon had her usual bad news face on, a perfect ice queen. "Her savage and brutal murder at the the hands of the 'Break the Chain' movement has left an entire nation in shock. We can now go over ,live, to Javi Hierro who is outside the Holy Nemyan Temple in Hecia. Javi? What's the story there?"

"Thanks Saianne, we are waiting outside the Holy Nemyan Temple, here in Hecia, for announcement for a successor to her late Holiness Iretta Jinx. Rumours have been spread around several different candidates, though there really is no real telling who
is favourite to replace the great Jinx." Javi hesitated for a moment, with a small commotion going on in the crowd around him. "I... I think that some kind of announcement is coming, in just a few moments."

Like any well-drilled media machine, the SCB:News Outside Broadcast crew cut to a long-shot of the ancient and weather-worn temple. Old, wisened figures in stately robes stepped out in unison. Few of them looked remotely pleased, despite the fact they they had elected a new head of their church by a majority vote. One stepped up to a microphone.

"In accordance with the laws of the Holy Church of Nemya, a new Holy Leader has been selected by a conclave of Bishops. The Leader, as decided moments ago, is his Holiness Philippou Tsalikassis. May God guide and protect him, and all..."

"There we have it, the announcement has come." Javi's voice took over. "His Holiness Philippou Tsalikassishas been chosen, not one of the front-runners for the position. He's a young man, almost unknown outside, let alone inside, of the Holy Church. I believe he is now going to make his first statement to the nation."

"Members of the faith, ladies and gentlemen." Tall and lean, Tsalikassis' deep voice echoed around the square outside the temple. "I must first pay tribute to Iretta Jinx, and to make sure that some good would come of her tragic death. We have all heard that she could, nay, should have been saved from death by our nation's dedicated health service. They were left unable to saver, there hands tied behind them, by a shortage of available blood. I therefore ask all members of the faith to go to their nearest medical facility and donate blood. Starblaydia needs donors, just as her Holiness did seven days ago. May our great nation receive more aid than she did."

Lady Viannor muted her television. During the middle of the day she was exhausted. Night was her playground now, when the sun was up Viannor was deep within the heart of her new castle, shielded from the deadly rays of the sun by metres-thick walls of stone. This, however, was a special day. Her puppet was newly installed and calling upon his faithful to make sure she'd have all the sustenance she'd ever need. It was lots of fun killing people, though.

"Megaphone bloody diplomacy," Tiberius said to himself, alone in his office as he muted the television, "give that Bren fool an armband and it's Nuremburg in Nedalia."

He tossed the remote control onto the sofa and paced up and down his office, arms folded.

"These retards," he scowled, "we match our main regional rival Godrod for Godrod and we're the agressive ones. Some other nation buys fifty-one fucking Dreadnoughts and they're only keeping up with the Jones'. Twenty seconds-worth out of a twenty minute long interview and some Nedalian idiot is rousing his nation. What the hell is going on AO all of a sudden?"

Tiberius paced back and forth in his office some more, before something on the screen caught his eye. Something green and link-shaped.

"Oh shit!" He lunged across his desk and punched the appropriate button. "Cut SCB:News, now!"

<Yes, my Lord.> The reply was instantaneous. Tiberius watched the screen intently, seeing the images of the public disorder.

'That's practially a riot,' he thought to himself. Barely had the thought entered his mind before the screen cut to black, shortly replaced by the 'technical difficulties' logo. Almost immediately his phone rang, and without time for niceties he answered it.

"Starblayde... I know it was Break The Chain, how the hell did that demonstration start?... Break it up, now.... I said now!"

It was Tiberius' first truly public speech since the mini-riot that had all happened - before being swiftly cut short as the plug was pulled - live and in living colour on SCB:News. It was a public hall, true enough, but the police cordon extended for nearly half a mile in every direction. On the wooden stage, framed behind by the deep red of a theatrical curtain, stood Lord-Protector Tiberius Starblayde, standing at a wooden podium with four microphones pointed at him. Standing in the wings, stage right, were various advisors and officers, with security men - all Venators - prowling around in the background and in plain sight at the foot of the stage.

"All this for one bloody 'everything's okay' speech," whispered Alvarez, today's speech-writer, "I'm barely one-hundred percent on this thing, it was so rush-"

"Quiet," Sal said, in the kind of harsh whispered yell that was designed to shut people silently, "listen to him perform your work."

"...and to those who point their accusing fingers at us, calling us the aggressors and the unjust; I say this: Where were you when the peace of the entire region was threatened as the madman Roger Omsec tried to lay his tainted hands on weapons of mass destruction? Where were you when Starblaydi men and women risked their lives to incapacitate that twisted regime?" A deathly silence had fallen over the crowd.

"He's got 'em," Sal whispered, but Alvarez wasn't listening to his friend.

"I'll tell you here, right now, where they were. There were two types of cowardly onlookers in those dark days. The first type simply stood back and stared, in awe of decisive action that no committee could ever have accomplished. But then, there was a second, more sinister type. The people who hid in our shadow, waiting for the opportunity for plunder, bloodshed and conquest. They waited for the head of the Omsec snake to be severed; and when this nation had accomplished that, they fell upon the leaderless remains like mongrels fighting over a bone." Tiberius was rising to a crescendo, enthralling words like his father before him, so many years ago. "A pile of dogs claiming their so-called prize, one they still hold today, won from the sweat and blood of Starblaydi volunteers and captured with the ease that we had created, a nation we had freed from insanity!" A wave of applause was about to interrupt him, but he cut it off before it even began with a sharp point of his finger. "It is with this 'feat of arms' that the so-called Strategic Defence League lay their claim to being the force for good in this region. They who sneer and point and accuse those who stand up for themselves, those who do not count them as first among equals. Those who preach righteousness but dare not achieve it. It is to them I say Starblaydia stands proud and triumphant against their warped notion of defence, now and forever!"

The rush of applause was incredible to behold, even watching through the television as Viannor was. She smiled at the elated but restrained figure of Tiberius on her screen, a determined stare in her eyes. She raised a communicator to her lips.

"Go time."

Any moment now it would happen, all live on national - and probably regional, perhaps even global - television. The next step on her path.

"Thankyou." Tiberius said softly, barely audible over the applause. He had lapped it up for what seemed like half an hour, though in reality was merely two minutes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and the audience knew to halt their applause. "My friends, recently we have seen trouble in our fair country from those outside our society. I have received intelligence that points to foreign agents within our midst. This so-called Break the Chain movement is nothing of the sort, it is an insurgency, funded and promoted by foreign aggressors! This action cannot be tolerated, and I have order the Inquisition to get to the bottom of-"

"Death to Starblayde!"

The scream cut through the air like a gunshot. Double doors were flung open at the back of the hall and a tirade of braying men charged through. The people sitting at the back in the aisle seats soon felt the force of the crude weapons the men carried, and everywhere women began to scream and the crowd turned into a panicked herd.

This both helped and hindered the Venators guarding the Lord-Protector. Suddenly there was a barrier of human bodies in between them and the aggressors, so they were shielded but could not retaliate. Any volley of gunfire would cause more harm than good. Swiftly a team of three Venators pounced on their leader like they were sacking a Gridball Quarterback, their job now was to get him to safety. But, with a microphone in front of him, Tiberius was not done.

"We've made this country great, you bastards!" he syelled, breaking an arm free from his nearest guardian, "With a lot of love," he scrambled free as one tried to pull him back by the waist.

"We work every damn day for you pigs," he grasped the lecturn fiercely, leaning into the microphone, "and you want to break our laws, tear our walls down?" He was ripped away again, but broke free of the grasp once more. "You want to destroy us?"

Finally they had a hold of him, but his last comment rang through the auditorium before the gunshots began.

"Well you can go to hell!"

Bundled away into and underground car park, Tiberius was still flushed with adrenaline as his driver sped away. Tyres screeched along the ground as the sleek black armoured car turned sharply around a corner, only to be confronted with a mob of around a dozen shouting members of Break the Chain.

"Drive over 'em." Tiberius was not in the mood for mere plebians to delay his automotive progress. The car accelerated. At least one man was knocked down by the front wing, probably smashing a hip or thigh bone in the process. The rest had to dive out of the way, reduced to muffled yells and hands slapping the outside of the car. "Bastards."

*****

Elsewhere, however, another car was speeding through the night. This one was driven by Lady Viannor, and she was heading to the palatial Bekkside home of one of Tiberius' Council. Her current transport was totally inauspicious, blending in perfectly with the surrounding light traffic.

She headed for the back entrance, not that it would have made much difference as to where she entered through front or back doors; both of them blown or smashed off their hinges by explosives or sledgehammers. There were shouts and screams and the sound of breaking glass and general destruction. Viannor stepped through the mess and mini-demolition that her paid members of Break the Chain were still causing, but she had one destination on her mind. Mackey, she thought, where the hell are you? Then it came to her.

His panic room.

The little bastard would be holed up in there, scampering to it at the first sign of some bedraggled weirdo with a baseball bat on his internal security monitors. She came to a sudden halt, mid-stride. Now was her chance to try one of the other gifts Stephen's deathly kiss had given her. She closed her eyes and opened her mind. Slowly the people in the house came into focus. Beserk, rampaging Chainers running amok in blurs and shadows. But there, hidden away in the back of her mind now, was a little whimpering white blob, a little thing hoping that it would all be over soon. Viannor concentrated some more, tilting her head involuntarily. Her eyes shot open.

"Benjamin," she said, "I'm coming for you."

Striding out through the corridors, Viannor wiped the blood from her mouth. She could even taste the alcohol that Mackey had been imbibing earlier that evening. She spat, a red-orange glob of spittle making a dull splat sound on the marble floor.

"Freeze!" The cry stopped her in her tracks. She looked up to see a security guard levelling a pistol at her head. "L.. Lady Viannor," he blurted out, lowering the weapon, "what are you doing here?"

She scarely had time to answer. Even as she opened her mouth, Lady Viannor saw a member of the Chainers rush up behind the officer and slide a knife into his back, dropping the man to the floor. The Chainer, blood still dripping from his knife, lunged at Viannor. Bloodlusts were her thing.

A single backhand swipe was all that was required to kill the man, shattering his skull as he bounced off the wall and into a heap on the floor. Thre were more shouts and screams, directly behind her. She whirled, only to see three more Chainers coming for her. Seemingly without thinking she dropped to her knees and grabbed the dead officers' gun. Five quick shots felled the three men in succession, and Viannor looked back down at the security guard. She placed the gun back where she had picked it up.

"Here," she said, "be a hero."

With that, she was gone.

"The Breakers got Bennie?" Rikaard was almost manic, pacing around the room. "How the hell did they get to him? Am I safe?"

Viannor was not in the mood for this, but it was someting that . It was the morning after she had killed Lord Benjamin Mackey, one of Tiberius' Inner Council, and this Lord, Rikaard Van Honjiik, had flown straight back in from Casari's Ylompic Games to make sure of his own security. She, of course, would be the one making sure of that.

"Look, Rikaard," she said, not completely hiding her tiredness and frustration, "I can keep you as safe as you've ever been-"

"I don't want to be killed by these plebians, Viannor! My position as Minister for Sport is under threat, and if I lose that I'll lose my protection, then they'll come for me."

"You want to be safe and keep your job?" Viannor dangled the bait.

"Yes!"

"Then I require your loyalty," she said flatly. There it is, Rikky, such a nice, juicy worm.

"You... you have it."

"Get out of my office, then," she snapped, "I'm more likely to kill you than anyone else in this country."

"Yes, Viannor." Rikaard scuttled out of her plush office just as her mobile phone began to ring.

incoming...
Tiberius

"Yes, Tiberius?... Calm down, don't worry. I'll sort it... A free reign? Totally?... Excellent. I'll get it done."

She pressed the little red button and snapped the phone back shut. All the powers she had already taken had just been officially handed to her. Now it was only a matter of time.

"Well, good morning ladies and gentlemen," Javi's deep voice echoes through the screen, "it's another beautiful day across Starblaydia, and today saw a very special sunrise as today sees the fiftieth year of the Protectorate of Starblaydia's history. I'm Javi Hierro and this is Saianne DeJardin and you're watching Good Morning Starblaydia."

"Our top story today, on the sixth of April," Saianne continues, "Starblaydia wakes up to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the Protectorate of Starblaydia, a day marked by nation-wide celebrations, parades and events. Lord-Protector Tiberius Starblayde is to hold a special event on his multi-million credit yacht for the great and good of Starblaydi society, while music concerts take place across the land and a special parade through the heart of the captial, Jhanna. Starblaydi patriotism is in full swing this day..."

This day. This had been a long day, longer than many he could remember. Tiberius sat on the edge of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees, in his hand a large glass of vodka with thick chunks of ice resting in it. Wearing a jet black suit that cost more than the average family car, his silk blue shirt was open at the collar, tie dispensed with on this occasion. He sighed, not for the first time this evening, contemplating his life as it had been so starkly laid out before him. He frowned, again, not for the first time that evening, and thought about his father. The great and benevolent Saevion Starblayde, the man who made Starblaydia a Protectorate of his own exactly fifty years before. His reverie was broken by a soft knock on the door.

"Tiberius," came the voice he knew so well, "it's me. Can I come in?"

"Yeah," he said, in a non-commital sort of way. The door opened slowly and Tiberius glanced up to see Viannor entering, wearing what had to be her third or fourth outfit of the day. This black evening gown seemed to preclude the use of underwear; something to distract him for the moment, at least. "What's up Vi?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," she said, smiling. It didn't seem to be a genuine one, though Tiberius was not one to notice that, staring at the glass in his hands and the reflections of the lights on his incredibly-expensive watch. "The fireworks have started."

Even in Tiberius' room, deep within the hull of the yacht, one could just about hear the cracks and bangs as the fireworks were shot into the air, detonating with a fleeting blaze of colour and glory. He nodded, knowing that all his guests would be watching them, but waiting for him.

"Where are we, Vi?" Tiberius asked, still looking for answers in the bottom of his glass. "How far have we come in fifty years?"

"A heck of a long way," she replied, stepping towards him with a natural grace, "from a little-known independant colony of a former, sprawling, far-off empire we've become the force in Atlantian Oceania; we lead the most powerful alliance and even though we stand pretty much alone against the united forces of weaklings in this region we are still the top dogs, the ones everyone tries to match themselves against; the benchmark for power. That's where we are now."

"And how much of that was me?"

"More than you know," she smiled, standing right in front of him, "yours is the one name that every man, woman and child knows in this region. Presidents, Prime Ministers, Kings and even First-bloody-Archons know they have to give you respect or be burned." They stifled a chuckle together and she traced her fingers through his long silver hair. "Saevion was a great man within Starblaydia itself, he forged it. But you are the man that wields it, Tiberius Starblayde, and your reach is long and mighty, and your gaze awesome and terrible, none are as powerful as you."

Tiberius leaned forward, resting his head gently against her stomach. She caressed him and he sighed, briefly at one with the world and, more importantly, himself. He patted her on the backside and looked up at her, rising to his feet.

"Thank-you." He smiled a contented smile. "Better go and greet my guests, or I'll miss the show."

"Just... one more thing," Viannor said, her eyes turning cold and hard, "a big dog you may be, but when Starblaydia growls, Sarzo and Stone and Bren and all the rest of them giggle and joke at parties. Yes, they are worried and concerned by us, and they have to match us, but they are not scared of us. Of you." Tiberius' eyes narrowed but Viannor continued. "I can provide the growl that sends them running, I can instil them with fear and horror, who can bring them to my feet. Not you."

"And you will do this how, exactly?" The situation was plain, Viannor had laid her cards on the table, and Tiberius could only call.

"How does Lady-Protector sound?" She gave him a shove, harder than he would have believed possible, sending him slamming into the wall. Shaken for a moment, Tiberius kept his feet and composed himself.

"You little bitch," he said, with a shake of his head and a knowing smile on his face, "it's all you, isn't it? All this Breaker stuff is you, and has been from the very beginning. What happened to you in Assington?"

Viannor's eye dropped for a moment.

"More than you can know..." she began, but the gunshot was too fast for her. Tiberius had brought the weapon up and fired, catching her in the left shoulder and dropping her to the floor.

"I didn't think it would be you, of all people." Tiberius said, still levelling the gun at her.

"Ahhhh," Viannor whispered her pain through gritted teeth as she brought herself up to one knee. "you silly little man, I'm going to get you for that-"

Two more shots. A double-tap to the chest as she leapt at him.

"Bastard!" was all she could cry through breathless lungs as Tiberius exited through the cabin door. Viannor slowly rolled onto her hands and knees, speaking into her watch-come-communicator.

"This is Viannor, Execute plan Sigma-Two. Bring me Tiberius, don't let him get off this ship!"

She rolled over again onto her back, urging her supernatural body to heal itself a little faster.

"My lord," came the voice from behind, "please halt."

Tiberius took no notice, continuing his quick pace down the corridor. He heard jogging footsteps behind him, closing fast.

"My lord, I cannot allow you to-"

A hand came down firmly onto his left shoulder which Tiberius agressively pushed away.

"I have orders to detain you, Lord Starblayde, from Lady Viannor."

Tiberius stopped dead in his tracks and swiftly turned, bringing the gun up to the face of the Special Agent behind him. He pulled the trigger and the man's head imploded, sending a shower of blood splashing across the narrow corridor wall. Venators are meant to be faster, Tiberius thought, better trained than to allow that to happen.

The gunshot, however, had brought the attentions of more, and better trained, Venators - the Starblaydi Special Forces.

*****

Captain Jaehaerys Fyreskar, a Venator himself, was usually found as a member of the 2nd Special Forces Group, 3rd Airborne Division. This night, however, he was part of the suited and sunglassed security for the Lord-Protector's 'Protectorate Day' bash on the partyship Orca.

Fiercely loyal to his country and Lord Tiberius in particular, Jay and his partner had just received code plan Sigma-Two in their ear-pieces. This order had come directly from the top, Lady Viannor herself, the head of the Inquisition, of which the Venators were technically part, a Special Forces outfit under both Army and Intelligence services.

With this code, the Lord-Protector was to be detained. The concept of 'no questions asked' did not come into it, that was merely the order that had to be followed. Then there came a gunshot. Jay and his partner, Alessandro, rushed toward the sound of the blast, down seemingly endless corridors until the found the body of one of their own, at first unidentifiable.

"He's headed for the deck!" Alessandro yelled, darting down the corridor, the only possible way that Starblayde could have gone. He was too quick for Jay, who lagged behind as they made their way at speed to the open deck.

Taking their steps into the night air through a hatch, their path was lit by attractive feng shui lighting placed intricately around the harsh metal deck of the former Battleship. Every now and then a deep colour cast was thrown over them like a blanket, the fireworks above them illuminating with a loud bang a second or so later.

Bangs that masked the sounds of gunfire. A series of shots directed at the two Venators. Alessandro was immediately caught in the path of the bullets, felled with multiple impacts to his chest.

"Alesso!" Jay yelled, snap-firing a pair of wildly aimed shots at his - now former - national leader before ducking behind a metal storage locker. Alessandro, however, was gone: shot dead by the Lord-Protector of Starblaydia. He was, contrary to what most in the region would believe, only the second person that Tiberius had ever directly killed.

"Starblayde!" Jay yelled across the no-man's land between them. "I'll kill you if I have to. If you make me do it, I won't hesitate."

He was answered by only gunfire, followed by a subtle 'click' and a curse. Jay confidently stepped out into the moonlight, seeing Lord Tiberius illuminated by a red glow that faded swiftly into the deep, pervasive midnight blue.

"Don't move, my Lord."

"You know what she is, don't you?" Tiberius stood rooted to the spot under Jay's gaze.

"It doesn't matter what the Lady is," Jay replied matter-of-factly, "the order is the order."

Tiberius smiled and glanced down at the floor. A rueful smile like a footballer denied a stonewall penalty, he looked up at his formerly-loyal Venator.

"You know what I did wrong?" He said, the look of a madman in his eyes, an uncaring soul who would accept his fate.

"Don't run, my Lord."

"I made everyone so good at following orders." He ran his hands through his long silver hair.

"Don't. Run."

"Even the bad ones-" Tiberius bolted for the side.

Too slow for Jay's trigger finger. Two blasts that caught Tiberius, one bullet in the hip and the other in the back. The Lord-Protector fell over the rail, his body twisting with the impact of the bullets and the lurching of the ship. His body fell into the water with a silent crash far below.

The Lord-Protector was gone.

"What do you mean 'gone'?"

Viannor rested her hands on the table and leant on them. Standing at the head of a table surrounded by these fools had always been one of her least-favourite pass-times as on of Tiberius' Inner Council.

"Gone," My Lord Rikaard, "Gone to the place where all autocrats end up eventually - the grave."

"He's..." Rikaard Van Honjiik could barely bring himself to say it. Tiberius had been the rock-solid, ever-present foundation for which his own personal power was based. With Tiberius gone, Rikaard was without his guardian. "Dead?"

"Of course he's bloody dead!" Viannor threw back her head in frustration. " When you're riddled with bullets before dropping into the frozen sea at night, you tend not to walk into your office the next morning!"

The room fell silent as each man went through the process of his thoughts.

"Tell us how, my Lady." Juan Bruntos had always been one for the details, the Minister for Finance never missed a step.

"A Hit Squad," Viannor lied through an Oscar-winning performance, "they had infiltrated the Orca as part of the staff. Orcinus' own money was given to these traitors. I'm ordering the investigation of Armando Gomez."

"You can't do that!" Ricardo Gomez's voice was, for once, raised. His brother had been Tiberius' favourite, an honoured guest on the Orca on Protectorate Day. "Armando is the most-loyal subject in the whole country."

"That remains to be seen." Viannor stated flatly. "He will be investigated, I have dispatched an Inquisitorial team already. We may yet save this country from tearing itself apart once the news hits the streets."

There was nothing Ricardo could do. As Minister for Communications he had been Tiberius' mouthpiece, the PR king who's measured tones helped to placate over four billion people. That and the Police force. Tiberius, like his father before him, had held Starblaydia in an iron grip, something that had only been increased by the adoption of Public Relations and 'spin'. Viannor was perfectly correct in that there could be a civil war. When such a great leader dies there is almost always a rush to fill the vacuum left by the outgoing figurehead. With the Army, the Venators, the Police and the Inquisition all able to pull in different directions, Starblaydia could be reduced to bickering, warring tribes within weeks.

"Tell us what to do, my Lady."

There it is, Viannor thought, my pawn plays his next role. She had installed Phillipou Tsalikassis as the head of the Holy Church of Nemya for one reason and one reason only: 'His Holiness' takes a seat - and a vote - on the Lord-Protector's Inner Council. Though Viannor's mental abilities did not currently stretch to being able to read the minds of all those present, she could feel their most base emotions, like neon signs projecting their feelings outward.

"We must act," Viannor began, "else all we have built these past years will count for nothing. The Starblaydia that we know and love today is feared by our enemies. The power Tiberius weilded when he was alive - even from when he took charge in his early twenties - was respected and acknowledged and feared by our foes. We cannot let that legacy crumble into dust, we must bear it before us like a great purple banner that proclaims 'This is only the beginning'! Unite as one in this darkest of times and emerge stronger and more powerful. Unite as one and crush this plague-ridden Breaker movement like I should have been allowed to do from the beginning. The rope that Tiberius failed to let me have was just the amount that the Breakers required to hang him. Unite behind me, and Starblaydia shall shake the world like no other before it!"

She locked eyes with each one of them in turn, knowing them fully as she did so. Tsalikassis was the first.

"I am behind you, my Lady."

"Me too," proclaimed the Minister for Defence, Lord Carlito Orfosi, "let's get the bastards that did this."

"You are in control, Viannor," Rikaard Van Honjiik said, his voice cracking, "lead us where you will."

"No-one leads here, my Lord," Juan Bruntos again, seeing the details, "without a Lord-Protector we are a Spruitlander hash bar; full of talk and ideas."

"Then let our Chief-Quaestor, Lady Viannor lead us into the new age of Starblaydia," Tsalikassis - again - said, "who better to crush our enemies than her?"

It was done. Viannor had placed her pieces to perfection. Even those who disagreed with her - Lords Bruntos, Jiminez and Gomez - had no answer with which to stop her, no valid reason to say no to her in front of the others. Lord Van Honjiik, scared into joining her; Lord Orfosi, blinded by rage as usual; His Holiness Tsalikassis, her pawn-turned-Queenmaker. They all joined with her to proclaim one thing.

Tiberius is dead. Long live Lady Viannor Starblayde, Protector of Starblaydia.

May God have mercy on your souls.

"...that's right, Blanc is the key man, he's the one who leads the team in every sense of the phrase." Trefor Trefor, football analyst, was in full flow. "As captain, he's a one-man wrecking ball against the opposition and his effectiveness in going forward cannot be underestimated..."

Trefor, however, was being distracted by some commotion around him in the plush studio of World Cup Special, where they were discussing the upcoming World Cup 28 Final between Bedistan and Starblaydia.

"I'm sorry, Trefor," the host, Trey Pickworth said, "but we have to interrupt you there with what I'm told is breaking news of the highest magnitude. We cross over now to SCB:News."

There was a slight awkward pause as the screen faded to black, swiftly replaced with a jump-cut to the SCB:News studio with, as ever, Javi Hierro and Saianne DeJardin. The two presenters were calm and composed, and the ticker across the bottom of the screen read:

GOVERNMENT ANNOUNCEMENT SOON - Ld Gomez to make speech to world - News of "the greatest importance" - GOVERNMENT...

Javi looked up into the camera.

"This is a special report of SCB:News," he said in the deep voice that reach out to billions, "I'm Javi Hierro and with me is Saianne DeJardin. This broadcast is going out on television, radio and internet in a completely unheralded event that has been described to our colleagues as, I quote, 'of the greatest importance'. As such, we welcome viewers, listeners and surfers from all corners of the globe, through every media outlet in Starblaydia and many in Atlantian Oceania itself."

"As of this moment," Saianne's voice rushed over you like a light summer rain, "we are unsure as to the nature of the speech to be made by Lord Ricardo Gomez, Communications Officer for the Protectorate of Starblaydia but we can only infer that it is something that may affect every man, woman and child in Atlantian Oceania. I.. I'm told we can go live, now, to Lord Gomez."

*****

At a podium stands Lord Ricardo Gomez. A tall, lean man with short, slick dark hair and a permanently tanned complexion. He is shadowed by the political leaders of Starblaydia, Lords and a Lady standing behind him in a semi-circle. Lord Isaac Chisoko - greying of hair and mahogany of skin, Lord Juan Bruntos - stern and determined, Lord Rikaard Van Honjiik - nervous and jittery, Lady Viannor - devastatingly beautiful and serene as the breeze, Lord Carlito Orfosi - angry and barely keeping his composure, Lord Howard Jiminez, His Holiness Phillipou Tsalikssis, The late Lord Benjamin Mackey notable for his absence. Lord Gomez looked straight at the camera and began to speak.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen. To the people of the Protectorate of Starblaydia, and to Atlantian Oceania and the World, I have the sad duty to announce to you all: The Lord-Protector is dead."

Never before has a nation, as one, taken a collective breath. In total shock with appropriate time allowed for perfectly by Gomez, ever the Public Relations grand master, he continued.

"Tiberius Starblayde was killed, murdered, on board the Orca Cruise Ship on the night of Protectorate Day. Assassins from the 'Break the Chain' movement inflitrated the ship's crew a murdered Lord Starblayde in a cold, brutal attack. Though the traitors were killed by Venator agents, our medical teams, on scene moments afterwards, could not save him."

"So as to ease Starblaydia through this troublesome time, the Inner Council has chosen Lady Viannor, Chief-Quaestor of the Inquisition, to take the position of Lady-Protector of Starblaydia. As such she shall be known as Lady Viannor Starblayde, the first modern-day Lady-Protector of Starblaydia. Her knowledge and expertise will be crucial in bringing the entire Break the Chain movement to justice. Starblaydia will be avenged. Starblaydia triumphant."

"Gentlemen," Viannor began, "those of you who have read the classified reports the Inquisition and I have been putting together since this terrorism mess began will be aware of the foundations for a new organisation I have created. Now, with the full power of the state at my disposal I have stepped up the programme, and the organisation is born." She flicked a switch on the desk in front of her. "Send them in."

At the end of the room, the two large double-doors swung open and in marched a dozen dark-suited women. They lined themselves up against one wall and faced the Inner Council.

"Where are the short, fat and ugly ones?" Lord Bruntos scoffed under his breath. "Or are these just the display models?"

"This is the beginnings of my new organisation," Viannor continued, not dignifying Juan's comment with a response, "with new and far-reaching jurisdictional powers. They are the Kalonii Emergency Reaction Enforcement Service, or KERES for the short and snappy acronym world in which we all exist."

"Oh, you have done your mythology homework recently, haven't you my Lady." Lord Bruntos said, again with a look of displeasure, "the Keres Daemons of Nemyan mythology come to life, female spirits to take the souls of the soon-to-be-dead down to Hades? Come now, my Lady, that is worse than that Damocles Ortillery station of yours."

"If you wish to remain Minister for Finance, you will hold your tongue," Viannor glared at him, "unless you wish to find yourself as a cleaner of a Nemyan Mythology Museum. Unless you have anything to say relevant to your current position?"

"As a matter of fact I do," Juan Bruntos stared matter-of-factly at his new Lady-Protector, "this operation has dragged in scores of millions of Credits already, and apart from the tailoring of their suits I see not even the briefest explanation of where out money has been going."

"One hundred and sixteen million Credits," Viannor corrected him, "the KERES is a sub-division of the Inquisition, sub-ordinate only to myself and the other Quaestors. The Venators cannot do everything at once, as was so aptly demonstrated by the fools sent to capture Tiberius on the Orca. They will go back to being used for their primary purpose, Special Forces Black Ops, while the KERES will take the strain between the Police Force and the Inquisition.

"They are mine my Lords," she said, "and will protect both me and Starblaydia. They are my personal, loyal agents and will be accorded with due respect by all other services."

"Even with those sunglasses," Bruntos mocked again.

"Their eyewear is sophisticated technology, Juan," Viannor neglected to use his title on purpose, "Video screens, audio hook-up, GPS and many other wondrous activities, never mind the fact they are stylish. Even at night my KERES will be able to see, for it is at night when they are most effective.

"The people are always easier to scare at night."

"...the coming of the night has a deep and abiding psychological significance, dating back to man's pre-human arboreal existence. Night will always be a time of fear and insecurity, and the heart will sink with the sun."
- Isaac Asimov, 'The Stars, Like Dust'


- END -