Epilogue: Declaration of War
Date: Kapton 14th, 114 A.U.
A fly buzzed around the pavilion where Lord Freglak and High-Priest Jaine sat, discussing politics, the stage opened up so that any who passed by could see them, although they had set up equipment so that they couldn’t hear. Newscasters stood outside discussing their predictions for this meeting. They met behind closed doors—but doors of glass—a precautionary measure to keep any devious play of assassination.
“We don’t have to be political enemies,” Freglak continued. “We can seize our victory over the elves if we put aside any of our previous quarrels and work together at our ultimate joint goal of defeating the elves. Let’s face the situation rationally. You need my leadership, and I need your prophesy. And the rest of the goblins need to see us united. You have surely adequately proven the power of the Mothertree. Together we can destroy them.”
Jaine sat for a moment contemplatively before he leaned in, his thin lips opening as his tongue flickered. “Nice speech,” he said. “But not good enough.”
Freglak stiffened. “The people want unity,” he said in a low tone. “You’ve seen their reactions to my speeches the past couple days. They love it.”
“Ah, yes, the general populace loves to hear propaganda,” Jaine said. “They eat it up. But I think that, between the two of us, we both know that their loyalties have more shifted toward the Mothertree than toward you.”
“A loyalty which I shifted back with my call to unity, what of it?” Freglak asked, trying to move on. “They need to see unity, and so I don’t see why we should continue to bicker amongst ourselves.”
“The words of the one who knows that he’s already the underdog,” Jaine mused, but then his tone sharpened. “Let’s look at this realistically. Your stock has been utterly defeated. That’s the only reason that you’re begging here.”
“I’m not-”
“Let me finish,” Jaine snapped. “I am the victor and you are the underdog. So you will hear my terms on this, and about all other issues. We can stand unified for the public—whatever we need to do to get them behind us so that we can beat the elves. But the war will be done according to the rules of the Mothertree. No profane weapons like guns or tasers, but by the Mothertree’s standards, and by the Mothertree’s strategies. That will be our compromise.”
Freglak bristled. “Compromise?” he snapped. “What kind of compromise is that? Do you expect me to become your puppet?”
“I expect you to do whatever I tell you to do,” Jaine said coldly. “You obviously have shown yourself inadequate for the task of defeating the elves. The public knows that only the Mothertree can bring us victory. You will obey our requests because we have been already declared the victors.”
“And if I refuse?”
A smile played across Jaine’s lips. “I think we both know the answer to that, Freglak,” Jaine whispered.
Freglak stiffened as he pondered it, before he violently stood up. “Very well,” he said coldly. “I believe that this meeting is done.”
“And the conclusion?” Jaine asked, standing up, still smiling.
“I believe that we both know the answer to that,” Freglak replied. “You obviously are unwilling to work with me and have so committed political suicide. Enjoy your war.”
“Oh, I will,” Jaine said, eyes narrowing. “And we will see who has actually committed political suicide, Freglak. Pray to your gods, if you have any. You’ll be needing them.”
Date: Kapton 14th, 114 A.U.
A fly buzzed around the pavilion where Lord Freglak and High-Priest Jaine sat, discussing politics, the stage opened up so that any who passed by could see them, although they had set up equipment so that they couldn’t hear. Newscasters stood outside discussing their predictions for this meeting. They met behind closed doors—but doors of glass—a precautionary measure to keep any devious play of assassination.
“We don’t have to be political enemies,” Freglak continued. “We can seize our victory over the elves if we put aside any of our previous quarrels and work together at our ultimate joint goal of defeating the elves. Let’s face the situation rationally. You need my leadership, and I need your prophesy. And the rest of the goblins need to see us united. You have surely adequately proven the power of the Mothertree. Together we can destroy them.”
Jaine sat for a moment contemplatively before he leaned in, his thin lips opening as his tongue flickered. “Nice speech,” he said. “But not good enough.”
Freglak stiffened. “The people want unity,” he said in a low tone. “You’ve seen their reactions to my speeches the past couple days. They love it.”
“Ah, yes, the general populace loves to hear propaganda,” Jaine said. “They eat it up. But I think that, between the two of us, we both know that their loyalties have more shifted toward the Mothertree than toward you.”
“A loyalty which I shifted back with my call to unity, what of it?” Freglak asked, trying to move on. “They need to see unity, and so I don’t see why we should continue to bicker amongst ourselves.”
“The words of the one who knows that he’s already the underdog,” Jaine mused, but then his tone sharpened. “Let’s look at this realistically. Your stock has been utterly defeated. That’s the only reason that you’re begging here.”
“I’m not-”
“Let me finish,” Jaine snapped. “I am the victor and you are the underdog. So you will hear my terms on this, and about all other issues. We can stand unified for the public—whatever we need to do to get them behind us so that we can beat the elves. But the war will be done according to the rules of the Mothertree. No profane weapons like guns or tasers, but by the Mothertree’s standards, and by the Mothertree’s strategies. That will be our compromise.”
Freglak bristled. “Compromise?” he snapped. “What kind of compromise is that? Do you expect me to become your puppet?”
“I expect you to do whatever I tell you to do,” Jaine said coldly. “You obviously have shown yourself inadequate for the task of defeating the elves. The public knows that only the Mothertree can bring us victory. You will obey our requests because we have been already declared the victors.”
“And if I refuse?”
A smile played across Jaine’s lips. “I think we both know the answer to that, Freglak,” Jaine whispered.
Freglak stiffened as he pondered it, before he violently stood up. “Very well,” he said coldly. “I believe that this meeting is done.”
“And the conclusion?” Jaine asked, standing up, still smiling.
“I believe that we both know the answer to that,” Freglak replied. “You obviously are unwilling to work with me and have so committed political suicide. Enjoy your war.”
“Oh, I will,” Jaine said, eyes narrowing. “And we will see who has actually committed political suicide, Freglak. Pray to your gods, if you have any. You’ll be needing them.”
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